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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Professor 
Benjamin  H,  Lehman 


TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 


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THE 


TRAGIC    COMEDIANS 

a  Stutrg  in  a  TOelHtnoton  Storg 


BY 

GEORGE  MEREDITH 


REVISED  EDITION 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS 

COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY 
WILLIAM  MAXSE  MEREDITH 


GIFT 


T7' 
THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 


The  word  "fantastical"  is  accentuated  in  our  tongue  to 
so  scornful  an  utterance  that  the  constant  good  service  it 
does  would  make  it  seem  an  appointed  instrument  for 
reviewers  of  books  of  imaginative  matter  distasteful  to 
those  expository  pens.  Upon  examination,  claimants  to 
the  epithet  will  be  found  outside  of  books  and  of  poets,  in 
many  quarters,  Nature  being  one  of  the  prominent,  if  not 
the  foremost.  Wherever  she  can  get  to  drink  her  fill  of 
sunlight  she  pushes  forth  fantastically.  As  for  that 
wandering  ship  of  the  drunken  pilot,  the  mutinous  crew 
and  the  angry  captain,  called  Human  Nature,  "  fantastical " 
fits  it  no  less  completely  than  a  continental  baby's  skull- 
cap the  stormy  infant. 

Our  sympathies,  one  may  fancy,  will  be  broader,  our 
critical  acumen  shrewder,  if  we  at  once  accept  the  thing 
as  a  part  of  us  and  worthy  of  study. 

The  pair  of  tragic  comedians  of  whom  there  will  be 
question  pass  under  this  word  as  under  their  banner  and 
motto.  Their  acts  are  incredible:  they  drank  sunlight 
and  drove  their  bask  in  a  manner  to  eclipse  historical 
couples  upon  our  planet.  Yet  they  do  belong  to  history, 
they  breathed  the  stouter  air  than  fiction's,  the  last  chapter 
of  them  is  written  in  red  blood,  and  the  man  pouring  out 
that  last  chapter  was  of  a  mighty  nature  not  unheroical,  a 
man  of  the  active  grappling  modern  brain  which  wrestles 
with  facts,  to  keep  the  world  alive,  and  can  create  them, 
to  set  it  spinning. 

A  Faust-like  legend  might  spring  from  him:  he  had  a 
devil.  He  was  the  leader  of  a  host,  the  hope  of  a  party, 
venerated  by  his  followers,  well  hated  by  his  enemies, 
respected  by  the  intellectual  chiefs  of  his  time,  in  the 

} 


572 


2  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

pride  of  his  manhood  and  his  labours  when  he  fell.  And 
why  this  man  should  have  come  to  his  end  through  love, 
and  the  woman  who  loved  him  have  laid  her  hand  in  the 
hand  of  the  slayer,  is  the  problem  we  have  to  study,  noth- 
ing inventing,  in  the  spirit  and  flesh  of  both.  To  ask  if  it 
was  love  is  useless.  Love  may  be  celestial  fire  before  it 
enters  into  the  systems  of  mortals.  It  will  then  take  the 
character  of  its  place  of  abode,  and  we  have  to  look  not 
so  much  for  the  pure  thing  as  for  the  passion.  Did  it  move 
them,  hurry  them,  animating  the  giants  and  gnomes  of 
one,  the  elves  and  sprites  of  the  other,  and  putting  animal 
nature  out  of  its  fashionable  front  rank?  The  bare  rail- 
way-line of  their  story  tells  of  a  passion  honest  enough 
to  entitle  it  to  be  related.  Nor  is  there  anything  invented, 
because  an  addition  of  fictitious  incidents  could  never  tell 
us  how  she  came  to  do  this,  he  to  do  that;  or  how  the 
comic  in  their  natures  led  by  interplay  to  the  tragic  issue. 
They  are  real  creatures,  exquisitely  fantastical,  strangely 
exposed  to  the  world  by  a  lurid  catastrophe,  who  teach  us 
that  fiction,  if  it  can  imagine  events  and  persons  more 
agreeable  to  the  taste  it  has  educated,  can  read  us  no  such 
furrowing  lesson  in  life. 


CHAPTER  I. 


An  unresisted  lady-killer  is  probably  less  aware  that  he 
roams  the  pastures  in  pursuit  of  a  coquette,  than  is  the 
diligent  Arachne  that  her  web  is  for  the  devouring  lion. 
At  an  early  age  Clotilde  von  Eudiger  was  dissatisfied  with 
her  conquests,  though  they  were  already  numerous  in  her 
seventeenth  year,  for  she  began  precociously,  haying  at 
her  dawn  a  lively  fancy,  a  womanly  person,  and  singular 
attractions  of  colour,  eyes,  and  style.  She  belonged  by 
birth  to  the  small  aristocracy  of  her  native  land.  Nature 
had  disposed  her  to  coquetry,  which  is  a  pastime  counting 
among  the  arts  of  fence,  and  often  innocent,  often  service- 
able, though  sometimes  dangerous,  in  the  centres  of  polished 
barbarism  known  as  aristocratic  societies,  where  nature  is 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  3 

not  absent,  but  on  the  contrary  very  extravagant,  tropical, 
by  reason  of  her  idle  hours  for  the  imbibing  of  copious 
draughts  of  sunlight.  The  young  lady  of  charming  coun- 
tenance and  sprightly  manners  is  too  much  besought  to 
choose  for  her  choice  to  be  decided;  the  numbers  beseech- 
ing prevent  her  from  choosing  instantly,  after  the  fashion 
of  holiday  schoolboys  crowding  a  buffet  of  pastry.  These 
are  not  coquettish,  they  clutch  what  is  handy :  and  little 
so  is  the  starved  damsel  of  the  sequestered  village,  whose 
one  object  of  the  worldly  picturesque  is  the  passing  curate; 
her  heart  is  his  for  a  nod.  But  to  be  desired  ardently  of 
trooping  hosts  is  an  incentive  to  taste  to  try  for  yourself. 
Men  (the  jury  of  householders  empanelled  to  deliver 
verdicts  upon  the  ways  of  women)  can  almost  understand 
that.  And  as  it  happens,  tasting  before  you  have  sounded 
the  sense  of  your  taste  will  frequently  mislead  by  a  step 
or  two  difficult  to  retrieve :  the  young  coquette  must  then 
be  cruel,  as  necessarily  we  kick  the  waters  to  escape  drown- 
ing :  and  she  is  not  in  all  cases  dealing  with  simple  blocks 
or  limp  festoons,  she  comes  upon  veteran  tricksters  that 
have  a  knowledge  of  her  sex,  capable  of  outfencing  her 
nascent  individuality.  The  more  imagination  she  has,  for 
a  source  of  strength  in  the  future  days,  the  more  is  she  a 
prey  to  the  enemy  in  her  time  of  ignorance. 

Clotilde's  younger  maiden  hours  and  their  love  episodes 
are  wrapped  in  the  mists  Diana  considerately  drops  over 
her  adventurous  favourites.  She  was  not  under  a  French 
mother's  rigid  supervision.  In  France  the  mother  resolves 
that  her  daughter  shall  be  guarded  from  the  risks  of  that 
unequal  rencounter  between  foolish  innocence  and  the 
predatory.  Vigilant  foresight  is  not  so  much  practised 
where  the  world  is  less  accurately  comprehended.  Young 
people  of  Clotilde's  upper  world  everywhere,  and  the 
young  women  of  it  especially,  are  troubled  by  an  idea 
drawn  from  what  they  inhale  and  guess  at  in  the  spirituous 
life  surrounding  them,  that  the  servants  of  the  devil  are 
the  valiant  host,  this  world's  elect,  getting  and  deserving 
to  get  the  best  it  can  give  in  return  for  a  little  dashing 
audacity,  a  flavour  of  the  Fronde  in  their  conduct;  they  sin, 
but  they  have  the  world ;  and  then  they  repent  perhaps, 
but  they  have  had  the  world.     The  world  is  the  golden 


4  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

apple.  Thirst  for  it  is  common  during  youth:  and  one 
would  think  the  French  mother  worthy  of  the  crown  of 
wisdom  if  she  were  not  so  scrupulously  provident  in 
excluding  love  from  the  calculations  on  behalf  of  her 
girl. 

Say  (for  Diana's  mists  are  impenetrable  and  freeze  curi- 
osity) that  Clotilde  was  walking  with  Count  Constantine, 
the  brilliant  Tartar  trained  in  Paris,  when  first  she  met 
Prince  Marko  Eomaris,  at  the  Hungarian  Baths  on  the 
borders  of  the  Styrian  highlands.  The  scene  at  all  events 
is  pretty,  and  weaves  a  fable  out  of  a  variety  of  floating 
threads.  A  stranger  to  the  Baths,  dressed  in  white  and 
scarlet,  sprang  from  his  carriage  into  a  group  of  musical 
gypsies  round  an  inn  at  the  arch  of  the  chestnut  avenue, 
after  pulling  up  to  listen  to  them  for  a  while.  The  music 
had  seized  him.  He  snatched  bow  and  fiddle  from  one  of 
the  ring,  and  with  a  few  strokes  kindled  their  faces. 
Then  seating  himself  on  a  bench,  he  laid  the  fiddle  on  his 
knee,  and  pinched  the  strings  and  flung  up  his  voice,  not 
ceasing  to  roll  out  the  spontaneous  notes  when  Clotilde 
and  her  cavalier,  and  other  couples  of  the  party,  came  nigh; 
for  he  was  on  the  tide  of  the  song,  warm  in  it,  and  loved 
it  too  well  to  suffer  intruders  to  break  the  flow,  or  to  think 
of  them.  They  were  close  by  when  the  last  of  it  rattled 
(it  was  a  popular  song  of  a  fiery  tribe)  to  its  finish.  He 
rose  and  saluted  Clotilde,  smiled  and  jumped  back  to  his 
carriage,  sending  a  cry  of  adieu  to  the  swarthy,  lank- 
locked,  leather-hued  circle,  of  which  his  dark  oriental 
eyes  and  skin  of  burnished  walnut  made  him  look  an 
offshoot,  but  one  of  the  celestial  branch. 

He  was  in  her  father's  reception-room  when  she  reached 
home :  he  was  paying  a  visit  of  ceremony  on  behalf  of  his 
family  to  General  von  Eiidiger:  which  helped  her  to 
remember  that  he  had  been  expected,  and  also  that  his 
favourite  colours  were  known  to  be  white  and  scarlet.  In 
those  very  colours,  strange  to  tell,  Clotilde  was  dressed  j 
Prince  Marko  had  recognized  her  by  miraculous  divination, 
he  assured  her  he  could  have  staked  his  life  on  the  guess 
as  he  bowed  to  her.  Adieu  to  Count  Constantine.  Fate 
had  interposed  the  prince  opportunely,  we  have  to  sup- 
pose, for  she  received  a  strong  impression  of  his  coming 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  O 

straiglit  from  her  invisible  guardian ;  and  the  stroke  was 
consequently  trenchant  which  sent  the  conquering  Tartar 
raving  of  her  fickleness.  She  struck,  like  fate,  one  blow. 
She  discovered  that  the  prince,  in  addition  to  his  beauty 
and  sweet  manners  and  gift  of  song,  was  good;  she  fell  in 
love  with  goodness,  whereof  Count  Constantine  was  not 
an  example:  so  she  set  her  face  another  way,  soon  dis- 
covering that  there  may  be  fragility  in  goodness.  And 
now  first  her  imagination  conceived  the  hero  who  was  to 
subdue  her.  Could  Prince  Marko  be  he,  soft  as  he  was, 
pliable,  a  docile  infant,  burning  to  please  her,  enraptured 
in  obeying?  —  the  hero  who  would  wrestle  with  her,  over- 
come and  hold  her  bound?  Siegfried  could  not  be  dreamed 
in  him,  or  a  Siegfried's  baby  son-in-arms.  She  caught  a 
glorious  image  of  the  woman  rejecting  him  and  his  rival, 
and  it  informed  her  that  she,  dissatisfied  with  an  Adonis, 
and  more  than  a  match  for  a  famous  conqueror,  was  a 
woman  of  decisive  and  independent,  perhaps  unexampled, 
force  of  character.  Her  idea  of  a  spiritual  superiority 
that  could  soar  over  those  two  men,  the  bad  and  the  good 
—  the  bad  because  of  his  vileness,  the  good  because  of  his 
frailness  —  whispered  to  her  of  deserving,  possibly  of 
attracting,  the  best  of  men:  the  best,  that  is,  in  the 
woman's  view  of  us  —  the  strongest,  the  great  eagle  of 
men,  lord  of  earth  and  air. 

One  who  will  dominate  me,  she  thought. 

Now  when  a  young  lady  of  lively  intelligence  and  tak- 
ing charm  has  brought  her  mind  to  believe  that  she  pos- 
sesses force  of  character,  she  persuades  the  rest  of  the 
world  easily  to  agree  with  her,  and  so  long  as  her  preten- 
sions are  not  directly  opposed  to  their  habits  of  thought, 
her  parents  will  be  the  loudest  in  proclaiming  it,  fortify- 
ing so  the  maid's  presumption,  which  is  ready  to  take  root 
in  any  shadow  of  subserviency.  Her  father  was  a  gouty 
general  of  infantry  in  the  diplomatic  service,  disinclined 
to  unnecessary  disputes,  out  of  consideration  for  his  vehe- 
ment irritability  when  roused.  Her  mother  had  been  one 
of  the  beauties  of  her  set,  and  was  preserving  an  attenu- 
ated reign,  through  the  conversational  arts,  to  save  her- 
self from  fading  into  the  wall.  Her  brothers  and  sisters 
were  not  of  an  age  to  contest  her  lead.     The  temper  of  the 


6  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

period  was  revolutionary  in  society  by  reflection  of  the 
state  of  politics,  and  juniors  were  sturdy  democrats, 
letting  their  elders  know  that  they  had  come  to  their 
inheritance,  while  the  elders,  confused  by  the  impudent 
topsy-turvy,  put  on  the  gaping  mask  (not  unfamiliar  to 
history)  of  the  disestablished  conservative,  whose  as- 
tounded state  paralyzes  his  wrath. 

Clotilde  maintained  a  decent  measure  in  the  liberty  she 
claimed,  and  it  was  exercised  in  wildness  of  dialogue 
rather  than  in  capricious  behaviour.  If  her  flowing  tongue 
was  imperfectly  controlled,  it  was  because  she  discoursed 
by  preference  to  men  upon  our  various  aft'airs  and  tangles, 
and  they  encouraged  her  with  the  tickled  wonder  which 
bids  the  bold  advance  yet  farther  into  bogland.  Becom- 
ing the  renowned  original  of  her  society,  wherever  it 
might  be,  in  Germany,  Italy,  Southern  France,  she  grew 
chillily  sensible  of  the  solitude  decreed  for  their  heritage 
to  our  loftiest  souls.  Her  Indian  Bacchus,  as  a  learned 
professor  supplied  Prince  Marko's  title  for  her,  was  a  pet, 
not  a  companion.  She  to  him  was  what  she  sought  for  in 
another.  As  much  as  she  pitied  herself  for  not  lighting 
on  the  predestined  man,  she  pitied  him  for  having  met  the 
woman,  so  that  her  tenderness  for  both  inspired  many 
signs  of  warm  affection,  not  very  unlike  the  thing  it 
moaned  secretly  the  not  being.  For  she  could  not  but  dis- 
tinguish a  more  poignant  sorrow  in  the  seeing  of  the  object 
we  yearn  to  vainly  than  in  vainly  yearning  to  one  unseen. 
Dressed,  to  delight  him,  in  Prince  Marko's  colors,  the 
care  she  bestowed  on  her  dressing  was  for  the  one  absent, 
the  shrouded  comer :  so  she  pleased  the  prince  to  be  pleas- 
ing to  her  soul's  lord,  and  this,  owing  to  an  appearance  of 
satisfactory  deception  that  it  bore,  led  to  her  thinking 
guiltily.  We  may  ask  it:  an  eagle  is  expected,  and  how 
is  he  to  declare  his  eagleship  save  by  breaking  through 
our  mean  conventional  systems,  tearing  links  asunder, 
taking  his  own  in  the  teeth  of  vulgar  ordinances? 
Clotilde's  imagination  drew  on  her  reading  for  the  knots 
it  tied  and  untied,  and  its  ideas  of  grandeur.  Her  reading 
was  an  interfusion  of  philosophy  skimmed,  and  realistic 
romances  deep-sounded.  She  tried  hard,  but  could  get  no 
other  terrible*  Kngle  for  her  hero's  exhibition  of  flaming 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  7 

azure  divineness  than  the  vile  one  of  the  wedded  woman. 
Further  thinking  of  it,  she  revived  and  recovered;  she 
despised  the  complication,  yet  without  perceiving  how 
else  he  was  to  manifest  himself  legitimately  in  a  dull 
modern  world.  The  rescuing  her  from  death  would  be  a 
poor  imitation  of  worn-out  heroes.  His  publication  of  a 
trumpeting  book  fell  appallingly  flat  in  her  survey.  Deeds 
of  gallantry  done  as  an  officer  in  war  (defending  his  country 
too)  distinguished  the  soldier,  but  failed  to  add  the  eagle 
feather  to  the  man.  She  had  a  mind  of  considerable  soar- 
ing scope,  and  eclectic:  it  analyzed  a  Napoleon,  and 
declined  the  position  of  his  empress.  The  man  must  be  a 
gentleman.  Poets,  princes,  warriors,  potentates,  marched 
before  her  speculative  fancy  unselected. 

So  far,  as  far  as  she  can  be  portrayed  introductorily^  shi 
is  not  without  exemplars  in  the  sex.  Young  women  'nave 
been  known  to  turn  from  us  altogether,  never  to  turn  back, 
so  poor  and  shrunken,  or  so  fleshly-bulgy  have  we  all 
appeared  in  the  fairy  jacket  they  wove  for  the  right  one 
of  us  to  wear  becomingly.  But  the  busy  great  world  was 
round  Clotilde  while  she  was  malleable,  though  she  might 
be  losing  her  fresh  ideas  of  the  hammer  and  the  block, 
and  that  is  a  world  of  much  solicitation  to  induce  a  vivid 
girl  to  merge  an  ideal  in  a  living  image.  Supposing,  when 
she  has  accomplished  it,  that  men  justify  her  choice,  the 
living  will  retain  the  colours  of  the  ideal.  We  have  it  on 
record  that  he  may  seem  an  eagle. 

"You  talk  curiously  like  Alvan,  do  you  know,"  a  gentle- 
man of  her  country  said  to  her  as  they  were  descending 
the  rock  of  Capri,  one  day.     He  said  it  musingly. 

He  belonged  to  a  circle  beneath  her  own:  the  learned 
and  artistic.  She  had  not  heard  of  this  Alvan,  or  had 
forgotten  him ;  but  professing  universal  knowledge,  espe- 
cially of  celebrities,  besides  having  an  envious  eye  for 
that  particular  circle,  which  can  pretend  to  be  the  choicest 
of  all,  she  was  unwilling  to  betray  her  ignorance,  and  she 
dimpled  her  cheek,  as  one  who  had  often  heard  the  thing 
said  to  her  before.     She  smiled  musingly. 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 


CHAPTER  II, 


"  Who  is  the  man  they  call  A  Ivan?  "  She  put  the  question 
at  the  first  opportunity  to  an  aunt  of  hers. 

Up  went  five-fingered  hands.  This  violent  natural  sign 
of  horror  was  comforting:  she  saw  that  he  was  a  celebrity 
indeed. 

"Alvan!  My  dear  Clotilde!  What  on  earth  can  you 
want  to  know  about  a  creature  who  is  the  worst  of  dema- 
gogues, a  disreputable  person,  and  a  Jew!" 

Clotilde  remarked  that  she  had  asked  only  who  he  was. 
"Is  he  clever?'' 

"  He  is  one  of  the  basest  of  those  wretches  who  are  for 
upsetting  the  Throne  and  Society  to  gratify  their  own 
wicked  passions:  that  is  what  he  is.'' 

"But  is  he  clever?" 

"Able  as  Satan  himself,  they  say.  He  is  a  really  dan- 
gerous, bad  man.  You  could  not  have  been  curious  about 
a  worse  one." 

"Politically,  you  mean." 

"Of  course  I  do." 

The  lady  had  not  thought  of  any  other  kind  of  danger 
from  a  man  of  that  station. 

The  likening  of  one  to  Satan  does  not  always  exclude 
meditation  upon  him.  Clotilde  was  anxious  to  learn  in 
what  way  her  talk  resembled  Alvan's.  He  being  that 
furious  creature,  she  thought  of  herself  at  her  wildest, 
which  was  in  her  estimation  her  best;  and  consequently, 
she  being  by  no  means  a  furious  creature,  though  very 
original,  she  could  not  meditate  on  him  without  softening 
the  outlines  given  him  by  report;  all  because  of  the  like- 
ness between  them;  and,  therefore,  as  she  had  knowingly 
been  taken  for  furious  by  very  foolish  people,  she  settled 
it  that  Alvan  was  also  a  victim  of  the  prejudices  he 
ecorned.  It  had  pleased  her  at  times  to  scorn  our  preju- 
dices and  feel  the  tremendous  weight  she  brought  on  her- 
self by  the  indulgence.  She  drew  on  her  recollections  of 
the  Satanic  in  her  bosom  when  so  situated,  and  never  hav- 
ing admired  herself  more  ardently  than  when  wearing  that 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  9 

aspect,  she  would  have  admired  the  man  who  had  won  the 
frightful  title  in  public,  except  for  one  thing  —  he  was  a 
Jew. 

The  Jew  was  to  Clotilde  as  flesh  of  swine  to  the  Jew. 
Her  parents  had  the  same  abhorrence  of  Jewry.  One  of 
the  favourite  similes  of  the  family  for  whatsoever  grunted 
in  grossness,  wriggled  with  meanness,  was  Jew:  and  it 
was  noteworthy  from  the  fact  that  a  streak  of  the  blood 
was  in  the  veins  of  the  latest  generation  and  might  have 
been  traced  on  the  maternal  side. 

Now  a  meanness  that  clothes  itself  in  the  Satanic  to 
terrify  cowards  is  the  vilest  form  of  impudence  venturing 
at  insolence ;  and  an  insolent  impudence  with  Jew  features, 
the  Jew  nose  and  lips,  is  past  endurance  repulsive.  She 
dismissed  her  contemplation  of  Alvan.  Luckily  for  the 
gentleman  who  had  compared  her  to  the  Jew  politician, 
she  did  not  meet  him  again  in  Italy. 

She  had  meanwhile  formed  an  idea  of  the  Alvanesque  in 
dialogue ;  she  summoned  her  forces  to  take  aim  at  it,  with- 
out becoming  anything  Jewish,  still  remaining  clean  and 
Christian;  and  by  her  astonishing  practice  of  the  art  she 
could  at  any  time  blow  up  a  company  —  scatter  mature  and 
seasoned  dames,  as  had  they  been  balloons  on  a  wind,  ay, 
and  give  our  stout  sex  a  shaking. 

Clotilde  rejected  another  aspirant  proposed  by  her 
parents,  and  falling  into  disgrace  at  home,  she  went  to 
live  for  some  months  with  an  ancient  lady  who  was  her 
close  relative  residing  in  the  capital  city  where  the  brain 
of  her  race  is  located.  There  it  occurred  that  a  dashiog 
officer  of  social  besides  military  rank,  dancing  with  her  at 
a  ball,  said,  for  a  comment  on  certain  boldly  independent 
remarks  she  had  been  making:  "I  see  you  know  Alvan." 

Alvan  once  more. 

"Indeed  I  do  not,"  she  said,  for  she  was  addressing  an 
officer  high  above  Alvan  in  social  rank;  and  she  shrugged, 
implying  that  she  was  almost  past  contradiction  of  the 
charge. 

"Surely  you  must,"  said  he;  "where  is  the  lady  who 
could  talk  and  think  as  you  do  without  knowing  Alvan 
and  sharing  his  views !  " 

Clotilde  was  both  startled  and  nettled. 


10  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

"But  I  do  not  know  him  at  all;  I  have  never  met  him, 
never  seen  him.  I  am  unlikely  to  meet  the  kind  of 
person,"  she  protested;  and  she  was  amazed  yet  secretly 
rejoiced  on  hearing  him,  a  noble  of  her  own  circle,  and  a 
dashing  officer,  rejoin:  "Come,  come,  let  us  be  honest. 
That  is  all  very  well  for  the  little  midges  floating  round 
us  to  say  of  Alvan,  but  we  two  can  clasp  hands  and  avow 
proudly  that  we  both  know  and  love  the  man." 

"Were  it  true,  I  would  own  it  at  once,  but  I  repeat 
that  he  is  a  total  stranger  to  me,"  she  said,  seeing  the 
Jew  under  quite  a  different  illumination. 

"Actually?" 

"In  honour." 

"You  have  never  met,  never  seen  him,  never  read  any 
of  his  writings?" 

"Never.     I  have  heard  his  name,  that  is  all." 

"Then,"  the  officer's  voice  was  earnest,  "I  pity  him, 
and  you  no  less,  while  you  remain  strangers,  for  you  were 
made  for  one  another.  Those  ideas  you  have  expressed, 
nay,  the  very  words,  are  Alvan's:  I  have  heard  him  use 
them.  He  has  just  the  same  original  views  of  society  and 
history  as  yours;  they  're  identical;  your  features  are  not 
unlike  .  .  .  you  talk  alike :  I  could  fancy  your  voice  the 
sister  of  his.  You  look  incredulous?  You  were  speaking 
of  Pompeius,  and  you  said  '  Plutarch's  Pompeius,'  and 
more  —  for  it  is  almost  incredible  under  the  supposition 
that  you  do  not  know  and  have  never  listened  to  Alvan  — 
you  said  that  Pompeius  appeared  to  have  been  decorated 
with  all  the  gifts  of  the  Gods  to  make  the  greater  sacrifice 
of  him  to  Csesar,  who  was  not  personally  worth  a  pretty 
woman's  '  bite.'  Come,  now  —  you  must  believe  me:  at  a 
supper  at  Alvan's  table  the  other  night,  the  talk  happened 
to  be  of  a  modern  Caesar,  which  led  to  the  real  one,  and 
from  him  to  *  Plutarch's  Pompeius,'  as  Alvan  called  him; 
and  then  he  said  of  him  what  you  have  just  said,  abso- 
lutely the  same  down  to  the  allusion  to  the  bite.  I  assure 
you.  And  you  have  numbers  of  little  phrases  in  common : 
you  are  partners  in  aphorisms :  Barriers  are  for  those  who 
cannot  fly :  that  is  Alvan's.  I  could  multiply  them  if  I 
could  remember;  they  struck  me  as  you  spoke." 

"I  must  be  a  shameless  plagiarist,"  said  Clotilde, 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  11 

*0r  he,"  said  Count  Kollin. 

It  is  here  the  place  of  the  Chorus  to  state  that  these 
ideas  were  in  the  air  at  the  time ;  sparks  of  the  Vulcanic 
smithy  at  work  in  politics  and  pervading  literature :  which 
both  Alvan  and  Clotilde  might  catch  and  give  out  as  their 
own,  in  the  honest  belief  that  the  epigram  was  original 
to  them.  They  were  not  members  of  a  country  where 
literature  is  confined  to  its  little  paddock,  without  influ- 
ence on  the  larger  field  (part  lawn,  part  marsh)  of  the 
social  world :  they  were  readers  in  sympathetic  action  with 
thinkers  and  literary  artists.  Their  saying  in  common, 
"Plutarch's  Pompeius,"  may  be  traceable  to  a  com- 
mon reading  of  some  professorial  article  on  the  portrait- 
painting  of  the  sage  of  Chseroneia.  The  dainty  savageness 
in  the  "bite"  Plutarch  mentions,  evidently  struck  on  a 
similarity  of  tastes  in  both,  as  it  has  done  with  others. 
And  in  regard  to  Caesar,  Clotilde  thought  much  of  Caesar; 
she  had  often  wished  that  Caesar  (for  the  additional  pleasure 
in  thinking  of  him)  had  been  endowed  with  the  beauty  of 
his  rival:  one  or  two  of  Plutarch's  touches  upon  the 
earlier  history  of  Pompeius  had  netted  her  fancy,  faintly 
(your  generosity  must  be  equal  to  hearing  it)  stung  her 
blood;  she  liked  the  man;  and  if  he  had  not  been  beaten 
in  the  end,  she  would  have  preferred  him  femininely. 
His  name  was  not  written  Pompey  to  her,  as  in  English, 
to  sound  absurd:  it  was  a  note  of  grandeur  befitting 
great  and  lamentable  fortunes,  which  the  young  lady 
declined  to  share  solely  because  of  her  attraction  to  the 
victor,  her  compulsion  to  render  unto  the  victor  the  sun- 
flower's homage.  She  rendered  it  as  a  slave :  the  splendid 
man  beloved  to  ecstasy  by  the  flower  of  Eoman  women 
was  her  natural  choice. 

Alvan  could  not  be  even  a  Caesar  in  person;  he  was  a 
Jew.  Still  a  Jew  of  whom  Count  Kollin  spoke  so  warmly 
must  be  exceptional,  and  of  the  exceptional  she  dreamed. 
He  might  have  the  head  of  a  Caesar.  She  imagined  a  huge 
head,  the  cauldron  of  a  boiling  brain,  anything  but  bright 
to  the  eye,  like  a  pot  always  on  the  fire,  black,  greasy, 
encrusted,  unkempt:  the  head  of  a  malicious  tremendous 
dwarf.  Her  hungry  inquiries  in  a  city  where  Alvan  was 
well  known,  brought  her  full  information  of    one  who 


12  THE  TEAGIC  COISIEDIANS 

enjoyed  a  liiglil}^  convivial  reputation  besides  the  influence 
of  his  political  leadership;  but  no  description  of  his  aspect 
accompanied  it,  for  where  he  was  nightly  to  be  met  some- 
where about  the  city,  none  thought  of  describing  him,  and 
she  did  not  push  that  question  because  she  had  sketched 
him  for  herself,  and  rather  wished,  the  more  she  heard  of 
his  genius,  to  keep  him  repulsive.  It  appeared  that  his 
bravery  was  as  well  proved  as  his  genius,  and  a  brilliant 
instance  of  it  had  been  given  in  the  city  not  long  since. 
He  had  her  ideas,  and  he  won  multitudes  with  them ;  he 
was  a  talker,  a  writer,  and  an  orator;  and  he  was  learned, 
while  she  could  not  pretend  either  to  learning  or  to  a 
flow  of  rhetoric.  She  could  prattle  deliciously,  at  times 
pointedly,  relying  on  her  intuition  to  tell  her  more  than 
we  get  from  books,  and  on  her  sweet  impudence  for  a 
richer  original  strain.  She  began  to  appreciate  now  a 
reputation  for  profound  acquirements.  Learned  professors 
of  jurisprudence  and  history  were  as  enthusiastic  for 
Alvan  in  their  way  as  Count  KoUin.  She  heard  things 
related  of  Alvan  by  the  underbreath.  That  circle  below 
her  own,  the  literary  and  artistic,  idolized  him;  his  talk, 
his  classic  breakfasts  and  suppers,  his  undisguised  ambi- 
tion, his  indomitable  energy,  his  dauntlessiiess  and  sway 
over  her  sex,  were  subjects  of  eulogy  all  round  her;  and 
she  heard  of  an  enamoured  baroness.  No  one  blamed 
Alvan.  He  had  shown  his  chivalrous  valour  in  defending 
her.  The  baroness  was  not  a  young  woman,  and  she  was 
a  hard-bound  Blue.  She  had  been  the  first  to  discover 
the  prodigy,  and  had  pruned,  corrected,  and  published 
him;  he  was  one  of  her  political  works,  promising  to  be 
the  most  successful.  An  old  affair  apparently ;  but  the  asso- 
ciation of  a  woman's  name  with  Alvan's,  albeit  the  name 
of  a  veteran,  roused  the  girl's  curiosity,  leading  her  to 
think  his  mental  and  magnetic  powers  must  be  of  the 
very  highest,  considering  his  physical  repulsiveness,  for  a 
woman  of  rank  to  yield  him  such  extreme  devotion.  She 
commissioned  her  princely  serving-man,  who  had  followed 
and  was  never  far  away  from  her,  to  obtain  precise  intelli- 
gence of  this  notorious  Alvan. 

Prince  Marko  did  what  he  could  to  please  her;  he  knew 
i^omething  of  the  rumours  about  Alvan  and  the  bareness. 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  13 

But  why  should  his  lady  trouble  herself  for  particulars  of 
such  people,  whom  it  could  scarcely  be  supposed  she  would 
meet  by  accident?  He  asked  her  this.  Clotilde  said  it 
was  common  curiosity.  She  read  him  a  short  lecture  on 
the  dismal  narrowness  of  their  upper  world;  and  on  the 
advantage  of  taking  an  interest  in  the  world  below  them 
and  more  enlightened;  a  world  where  ideas  were  current 
and  speech  was  wine.  The  prince  nodded;  if  she  had 
these  opinions,  it  must  be  good  for  him  to  have  them  too, 
and  he  shared  them,  as  it  were,  by  the  touch  of  her  hand, 
and  for  the  length  of  time  that  he  touched  her  hand,  as 
an  electrical  shock  may  be  taken  by  one  far  removed  from 
the  battery,  susceptible  to  it  only  through  the  link;  he 
was  capable  of  thinking  all  that  came  to  him  from  her  a 
blessing  —  shocks,  wounds  and  disruptions.  He  did  not 
add  largely  to  her  stock  of  items,  nor  did  he  fetch  new 
colours.  The  telegraph  wire  was  his  model  of  style.  He 
was  more  or  less  a  serviceless  Indian  Bacchus,  standing 
for  sign  of  the  beauty  and  vacuity  of  their  world:  and  how 
dismally  narrow  that  world  was,  she  felt  with  renewed 
astonishment  at  every  dive  out  of  her  gold-fish  pool  into 
the  world  of  tides  below ;  so  that  she  was  ready  to  scorn 
the  cultivation  of  the  graces,  and  had,  when  not  submit- 
ting to  the  smell,  fanciful  fits  of  a  liking  for  tobacco 
smoke  —  the  familiar  incense  of  those  homes  where  speech 
was  wine. 

At  last  she  fell  to  the  asking  of  herself  whether,  in  the 
same  city  with  him,  often  among  his  friends,  hearing  his 
latest  intimate  remarks  —  things  homely  redolent  of  him 
as  hot  bread  of  the  oven  —  she  was  ever  to  meet  this  man 
upon  whom  her  thoughts  were  bent  to  the  eclipse  of  all 
others.  She  desired  to  meet  him  for  comparison's  sake, 
and  to  criticise  a  popular  hero.  It  was  inconceivable  that 
any  one  popular  could  approach  her  standard,  but  she  was 
curious;  flame  played  about  him;  she  had  some  expecta- 
tion of  easing  a  spiteful  sentiment  created  by  the  recent 
subjection  of  her  thoughts  to  the  prodigious  little  Jew; 
and  some  feeling  of  closer  pity  for  Prince  Marko  she 
had,  which  urged  her  to  be  rid  of  her  delusion  as  to  the 
existence  of  a  wonder-working  man  on  our  earth,  that  she 
might  be  sympathetically  kind  to  the  prince,  perhaps  com- 


14  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

pliant,  and  so  please  her  parents,  be  good  and  dull,  and 
please  everybody,  and  adieu  to  dreams,  good  night,  and 
so  to  sleep  with  the  beasts!  .  .  . 

Calling  one  afternoon  on  a  new  acquaintance  of  the 
flat  table-land  she  liked  tripping  down  to  from  her  heights, 
Clotilde  found  the  lady  in  supreme  toilette,  glowing, 
bubbling:  "Such  a  breakfast,  my  dear!  "  The  costly  pro- 
fusion, the  anecdotes,  the  wit,  the  fun,  the  copious 
draughts  of  the  choicest  of  life  —  was  there  ever  anything 
to  match  it?  Never  in  that  lady's  recollection,  or  her 
husband's  either,  she  exclaimed.  And  where  was  the 
breakfast?  Why,  at  A  Ivan's,  to  be  sure;  where  else  could 
such  a  breakfast  be? 

"  And  you  know  Alvan !  "  cried  Clotilde,  catching  excite- 
ment from  the  lady's  flush. 

"Alvan  is  one  of  my  husband's  closest  friends." 

Clotilde  put  on  the  playful  frenzy;  she  made  show  of 
wringing  her  hands:  "Oh!  happy  you!  you  know  Alvan? 
And  everybody  is  to  know  him  except  me?  why?  I  pro- 
claim it  unjust.  Because  I  am  unmarried?  I  '11  take  a 
husband  to-morrow  morning  to  be  entitled  to  meet  Alvan 
in  the  evening." 

The  playful  frenzy  is  accepted  in  its  exact  innocent 
signification  of  "this  is  my  pretty  wilful  will  and  way," 
and  the  lady  responded  to  it  cordially ;  for  it  is  pleasant 
to  have  some  one  to  show,  and  pleasant  to  assist  some  one 
eager  to  see :  besides,  many  had  petitioned  her  for  a  sight 
of  Alvan;  she  was  used  to  the  request. 

"You're  not  obliged  to  wait  for  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
"  Come  to  one  of  our  gatherings  to-night.  Alvan  will  be 
here." 

"You  invite  me?" 

"Distinctly.  Pray,  come.  He  is  sure  to  be  here. 
We  have  his  promise,  and  Alvan  never  fails.  Was  it  not 
Frau  V.  Crestow  who  did  us  the  favour  of  our  introduction? 
She  will  bring  you." 

The  Frau  v.  Crestow  was  a  cousin  of  Clotilde's  by  mar- 
riage, sentimental,  but  strict  in  her  reading  of  the  pro- 
prieties. She  saw  nothing  wrong  in  undertaking  to 
conduct  Clotilde  to  one  of  those  famous  gatherings  of  the 
finer  souls  of  the  city  and  the  race;  and  her  husband 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  15 

agreed  to  join  them  after  the  sitting  of  the  Chamber  upon 
a  military-budget  vote.  The  whole  plan  was  nicely 
arranged  and  went  well.  Clotilde  dressed  carefully,  let- 
ting her  gold-locks  cloud  her  fine  forehead  carelessly,  with 
finishing  touches  to  the  negligence,  for  she  might  be  chal- 
lenged to  take  part  in  disputations  on  serious  themes,  and 
a  handsome  young  woman  who  has  to  sustain  an  argument 
against  a  man  does  wisely  when  she  forearms  her  beauties 
for  a  reserve,  to  carry  out  flanking  movements  if  required. 
The  object  is  to  beat  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Her  hostess  met  her  at  the  entrance  of  the  rooms,  mur- 
muring that  Alvan  was  present,  and  was  there  :  —  a  direc- 
tion of  a  nod  that  any  quick-witted  damsel  must  pretend 
to  think  sufficient,  so  Clotilde  slipped  from  her  companion 
and  gazed  into  the  recess  of  a  doorless  inner  room,  where 
three  gentlemen  stood,  backed  by  book-cases,  conversing 
in  blue  vapours  of  tobacco.  They  were  indistinct;  she 
could  see  that  one  of  them  was  of  good  stature.  One  she 
knew;  he  was  the  master  of  the  house,  mildly  Jewish. 
The  third  was  distressingly  branded  with  the  slum  and 
gutter  signs  of  the  Ahasuerus  race.  Three  hats  on  his  head 
could  not  have  done  it  more  effectively.  The  vindictive 
caricatures  of  the  God  Pan,  executed  by  priests  of  the 
later  religion  burning  to  hunt  him  out  of  worship  in  the 
semblance  of  the  hairy,  hoofy,  snouty  Evil  One,  were  not 
more  loathsome.  She  sank  od  a  sofa.  That  the  man? 
Oh!  Jew,  and  fifty  times  over  Jew!  nothing  but  Jew! 

The  three  stepped  into  the  long  saloon,  and  she  saw 
how  veritably  magnificent  was  the  first  whom  she  had 
noticed. 

She  sat  at  her  lamb's-wool  work  in  the  little  ivory 
frame,  feeding  on  the  contrast.  This  man's  face  was  the 
born  orator's,  with  the  light-giving  eyes,  the  forward 
nose,  the  animated  mouth,  all  stamped  for  speechfulness 
and  enterprise,  of  Cicero's  rival  in  the  forum  before  he 


16  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

took  the  headship  of  armies  and  marched  to  empire.  The 
gifts  of  speech,  enterprise,  decision,  were  marked  on  his 
features  and  his  bearing,  but  with  a  fine  air  of  lordly 
mildness.  Alas,  he  could  not  be  other  than  Christian,  so 
glorious  was  he  in  build!  One  could  vision  an  eagle 
swooping  to  his  helm  by  divine  election.  So  vigorously 
rich  was  his  blood  that  the  swift  emotion  running  with 
the  theme  as  he  talked  pictured  itself  in  passing  and  was 
like  the  play  of  sheet  lightning  on  the  variations  of  the 
uninterrupted  and  many-glancing  outpour.  Looking  on 
him  was  listening.  Yes,  the  looking  on  him  sufficed. 
Here  was  an  image  of  the  beauty  of  a  new  order  of  god- 
like men,  that  drained  an  Indian  Bacchus  of  his  thin 
seductions  at  a  breath  —  reduced  him  to  the  state  of  nursery 
plaything,  spangles  and  wax,  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
girl  suddenly  plunged  on  the  deeps  of  her  womanhood. 
She  shrank  to  smaller  and  smaller  as  she  looked. 

Be  sure  that  she  knew  who  he  was.  No,  says  she. 
But  she  knew.  It  terrified  her  soul  to  think  he  was 
Alvan.  She  feared  scarcely  less  that  it  might  not  be  he. 
Between  these  dreads  of  doubt  and  belief  she  played  at 
cat  and  mouse  with  herself,  escaped  from  cat,  persecuted 
mouse,  teased  herself,  and  gloated.  It  is  he !  not  he !  he ! 
not  he!  most  certainly!  impossible!  —  And  then  it  ran :  If 
he,  oh  me!  If  another,  woe  me!  For  she  had  come  to 
see  Alvan.  Alvan  and  she  shared  ideas.  They  talked 
marvellously  alike,  so  as  to  startle  Count  Kollin :  and 
supposing  he  was  not  Alvan,  it  would  be  a  bitter  disap- 
pointment. The  supposition  that  he  was,  threatened  her 
with  instant  and  life-long  bondage. 

Then  again,  could  that  face  be  the  face  of  a  Jew?  She 
feasted.  It  was  a  noble  profile,  an  ivory  skin,  most 
lustrous  eyes.  Perchance  a  Jew  of  the  Spanish  branch  of 
the  exodus,  not  the  Polish.  There  is  the  noble  Jew  as 
well  as  the  bestial  Gentile.  There  is  not  in  the  sublimest 
of  Gentiles  a  majesty  comparable  to  that  of  the  Jew  elect. 
He  may  well  think  his  race  favoured  of  heaven,  though 
heaven  chastise  them  still.  The  noble  Jew  is  grave  in 
age,  but  in  his  youth  he  is  the  arrow  to  the  bow  of  his 
fiery  eastern  blood,  and  in  his  manhood  he  is  —  ay,  what 
you  see  there !  a  figure  of  easy  and  superb  preponderance, 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  17 

whose  fire  has  mounted  to  inspirit  and  be  tempered  by  the 
intellect. 

She  was  therefore  prepared  all  the  while  for  the  surprise 
of  learning  that  the  gentleman  so  unlike  a  Jew  was 
Alvan;  and  she  was  prepared  to  express  her  recordation 
of  the  circumstance  in  her  diary  with  phrases  of  very 
eminent  surprise.  Necessarily  it  would  be  the  greatest  of 
surprises. 

The  three,   this  man   and   his  two  of  the  tribe,  upon 
whom  Clotilde's  attention  centred,  with  a'comparison  in 
her  mind  too  sacred  to  be  other  than  profane  (comparisons 
will  thrust  themselves  on  minds  disordered),  dropped  to  the 
cushions  of  the  double-seated  sofa,  by  one  side  of  which  she 
cowered  over  her  wool-work,  willing  to  dwindle  to  a  pin's 
head  if  her  insignificance  might  enable  her  to   hear   the 
words  of  the  speaker.    He  pursued  his  talk :  there  was  little 
danger  of  not  hearing  him.     There  was  only  the  danger  of 
feeling  too  deeply  the  spell  of  his  voice.     His  voice  had 
the  mellow  fulness  of  the  clarionet.     But  for  the  subject, 
she  could  have  fancied  a  noontide  piping  of  great  Pan  by 
the  sedges.     She  had  never  heard  a  cootinuous  monologue 
so  musical,  so  varied  in  music,  amply-flowing,  vivacious, 
interwovenly  the  brook,  the  stream,  the  torrent :  a  perfect 
natural  orchestra  in  a  single  instrument.    He  had  notes  less 
pastorally  imageable,  notes  that  fired  the  blood,  with  the 
ranging  of  his  theme.     The  subject  became  clearer  to  her 
subjugated  wits,  until  the  mental  vivacity  he   roused  on 
certain  impetuous  phrases  of   assertion  caused  her  pride 
to   waken  up  and  rebel  as  she  took  a  glance  at  herself, 
remembering  that  she  likewise  was  a  thinker,  deemed  in 
her  society  an  original  thinker,   an  intrepid  thinker  and 
talker,  not  so  very  much  beneath  this  man  in  audacity  of 
braio,  it  might  be.     He  kindled  her  thus,  and  the  close- 
shut  bud  expanded  and  knew  the  fretting  desire  to  breathe 
out  the  secret  within  it,  and  be  appreciated  in  turn. 

The  young  flower  of  her  sex  burned  to  speak,  to  deliver 
an  opinion.  She  was  unaccustomed  to  yield  a  fascinated 
ear.  She  was  accustomed  rather  to  dictate  and  be  the 
victorious  performer,  and  though  now  she  was  not  anxious 
to  occupy  the  pulpit  —  being  too  strictly  bred  to  wish  for 
a  post  publicly  in  any  of  the  rostra  — -  and  meant  still  less 


18  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

to  dispossess  the  present  speaker  of  the  place  he  filled  so 
well,  she  yearned  to  join  him:  and  as  that  could  not  be 
done  by  a  stranger  approving,  she  panted  to  dissent.  A 
young  lady  cannot  so  well  say  to  an  unknown  gentleman : 
"You  have  spoken  truly,  sir,"  as,  "That  is  false!  "  for  to 
speak  in  the  former  case  would  be  gratuitous,  and  in  the 
latter  she  is  excused  by  the  moral  warmth  provoking  her. 
Further,  dissent  rings  out  finely,  and  approval  is  a  feeble 
murmur  —  a  poor  introduction  of  oneself.  Her  moral 
warmth  was  ready  and  waiting  for  the  instigating  subject, 
but  of  course  she  was  unconscious  of  the  goad  within. 
Excitement  wafted  her  out  of  herself,  as  we  say,  or  out 
of  the  conventional  vessel  into  the  waves  of  her  troubled 
nature.  He  had  not  yet  given  her  an  opportunity  for  dis- 
senting; she  was  compelled  to  agree,  dragged  at  his  chariot- 
wheels  in  headlong  agreement. 

His  theme  was  Action;  the  political  advantages  of 
Action;  and  he  illustrated  his  view  with  historical 
examples,  to  the  credit  of  the  French,  the  temporary 
discredit  of  the  German  and  English  races,  who  tend  to 
compromise  instead.  Of  the  English  he  spoke  as  of  a 
power  extinct,  a  people  "gone  to  fat,"  who  have  gained 
their  end  in  a  hoard  of  gold  and  shut  the  door  upon  bandit 
ideas.  Action  means  life  to  the  soul  as  to  the  body. 
Compromise  is  virtual  death:  it  is  the  pact  between  cow- 
ardice and  comfort  under  the  title  of  expediency.  So  do 
we  gather  dead  matter  about  us.  So  are  we  gradually 
self-stifled,  corrupt.  The  war  with  evil  in  every  form 
must  be  incessant:  we  cannot  have  peace.  Let  then  our 
joy  be  in  war;  in  uncompromising  Action,  which  need  not 
be  the  less  a  sagacious  conduct  of  the  war.  .  .  .  Action 
energizes  men's  brains,  generates  grander  capacities,  pro- 
vokes greatness  of  soul  between  enemies,  and  is  the 
guarantee  of  positive  conquest  for  the  benefit  of  our  species. 
To  doubt  that,  is  to  doubt  of  good  being  to  be  had  for  the 
seeking.  He  drew  pictures  of  the  healthy  Eome  when  tur- 
bulent, the  doomed  quiescent.  Rome  struggling  grasped  the 
world.  Rome  stagnant  invited  Goth  and  Vandal.  So  forth : 
alliterative  antitheses  of  the  accustomed  pamphleteer. 
At  last  her  chance  arrived. 

His  opposition  sketch  of  Inaction  was  refreshed  by  an 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  19 

analysis  of  the  character  of  Hamlet.  Then  he  reverted  to 
Hamlet^s  promising  youth.  How  brilliantly  endowed  was 
the  Prince  of  Denmark  in  the  beginning ! 

"Mad  from  the  first!  "  cried  Clotilde. 

She  produced  an  effect  not  unlike  that  of  a  sudden  crack 
of  thunder.  The  three  made  chorus  in  a  noise  of  boots 
on  the  floor. 

Her  hero  faced  about  and  stood  up,  looking  at  her  ful- 
gently.  Their  eyes  engaged  without  wavering  on  either 
side.  Brave  eyes  they  seemed,  each  pair  of  them,  for  his 
were  fastened  on  a  comely  girl,  and  she  had  strung  herself 
to  her  gallantest  to  meet  the  crisis. 

His  friends  quitted  him  at  a  motion  of  the  elbows.  He 
knelt  on  the  sofa,  leaning  across  it,  with  clasped  hands. 

"  You  are  she !  —  So,  then,  is  a  contradiction  of  me  to  be 
the  commencement?  " 

"After  the  apparition  of  Hamlet's  father  the  prince  was 
mad,"  said  Clotilde,  hurriedly,  and  she  gazed  for  her  hostess, 
a  paroxysm  of  alarm  succeeding  that  of  her  boldness. 

"Why  should  we  two  wait  to  be  introduced?"  said  he. 
"We  know  one  another.  I  am  Alvan.  You  are  she  of 
whom  I  heard  from  Kollin:  who  else?  Lucretia  the 
gold-haired;  the  gold-crested  serpent,  wise  as  her  sirej 
Aurora  breaking  the  clouds;  in  short,  Clotilde!" 

Her  heart  exulted  to  hear  him  speak  her  name.  She 
laughed  with  a  radiant  face.  His  being  Alvan,  and  his 
knowing  her  and  speaking  her  name,  all  was  like  the 
happy  reading  of  a  riddle.  He  came  round  to  her,  bowing, 
and  his  hand  out.  She  gave  hers:  she  could  have  said, 
if  asked,  "For  good!  "  And  it  looked  as  though  she  had 
given  it  for  good. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"Hamlet  in  due  season,"  said  he,  as  they  sat  together. 
"I  shall  convince  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Yes,  yes,  an  opinion  formed  by  a  woman  is  inflexible; 
I  know  that;  the  fact  is  not  half  so  stubborn.     But  at 


20  THE  TRAGIC  COIMEDIANS 

present  there  are  two  more  important  actors :  we  are  not 
at  Elsinore.     You  are  aware  that  I  hoped  to  meet  you?  " 

"  Is  there  a  periodical  advertisement  of  your  hopes?  —  or 
do  they  come  to  us  by  intuition?  " 

"  Kollin  was  right !  —  the  ways  of  the  serpent  will  be 
serpentine.  I  knew  we  must  meet.  It  is  no  true  day  so 
long  as  the  goddess  of  the  morning  and  the  sungod  are 
kept  asunder.  I  speak  of  myself,  by  what  I  have  felt 
since  I  heard  of  you." 

"You  are  sure  of  your  divinity?  " 

"  Through  my  belief  in  yours !  " 

They  bowed  smiling  at  the  courtly  exchanges. 

"And  tell  me,"  said  he,  "as  to  meeting  me?  .   .  ." 

She  replied :  "  When  we  are  so  like  the  rest  of  the  world 
we  may  confess  our  weakness." 

"  Unlike !  for  the  world  and  I  meet  and  part :  not  we 
two." 

Clotilde  attempted  an  answer :  it  would  not  come.  She 
tried  to  be  revolted  by  his  lording  tone,  and  found  it 
strangely  inoffensive.  His  lording  presence  and  the  smile 
that  was  like  a  waving  feather  on  it  compelled  her  so 
strongly  to  submit  to  hear,  as  to  put  her  in  danger  of 
appearing  to  embrace  this  man's  rapid  advances. 

She  said:  "I  first  heard  of  you  at  Capri." 

"And  I  was  at  Capri  seven  days  after  you  had  left." 

"  You  knew  my  name  then  ?  " 

"Be  not  too  curious  with  necromancers.  Here  is  the 
date  —  March  15th.     You  departed  on  the  8th." 

"I  think  I  did.     That  is  a  year  from  now." 

"Then  we  missed:  now  v/e  meet.  It  is  a  year  lost. 
A  year  is  a  great  age  !  Eeflect  on  it  and  what  you  owe 
me.  How  I  wished  for  a  comrade  at  Capri !  Not  a 
*  young  lady,'  and  certainly  no  man.  The  understanding 
Feminine  was  my  desire  —  a  different  thing  from  the 
feminine  understanding,  usually.  I  wanted  my  comrade 
young  and  fair,  necessarily  of  your  sex,  but  with  heart 
and  brain :  an  insane  request,  I  fancied,  until  I  heard  that 
you  were  the  person  I  wanted.  In  default  of  you  I  paraded 
the  island  with  Tiberius,  who  is  my  favourite  tyrant.  We 
took  the  initiative  against  the  patricians,  at  my  sugges- 
tion, and  the  Annals  were  written  by  a  plebeian   dema* 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  21 

gogue,  instead  of  by  one  of  that  party,  whose  account  of 
my  extinction  by  command  of  the  emperor  was  pathetic. 
He  apologized  in  turn  for  my  imperial  master  and  me, 
saying  truly,  that  the  misunderstanding  between  us  was 
past  cement :  for  each  of  us  loved  the  man  but  hated  his 
office ;  and  as  the  man  is  always  more  in  his  office  than  he 
is  in  himself,  clearly  it  was  the  lesser  portion  of  our 
friend  that  each  of  us  loved.  So,  I,  as  the  weaker,  had  to 
perish,  as  he  would  have  done  had  I  been  the  stronger;  I 
admitted  it,  and  sent  my  emperor  my  respectful  adieux, 
with  directions  for  the  avoiding  of  assassins.  Mademoi- 
selle, by  delaying  your  departure  seven  days,  you  would 
have  saved  me  from  death.  You  see,  the  official  is  the 
artificial  man,  and  I  ought  to  have  known  there  is  no 
natural  man  left  in  us  to  weigh  against  the  artificial.  I 
counted  on  the  emperor's  personal  affection,  forgetting 
that  princes  cannot  be  our  friends." 
,     "You  died  bravely?  " 

Clotilde  entered  into  the  extravagance  with  a  happy 
simulation  of  zest. 

"  Simply,  we  will  say.  My  time  had  come,  and  I  took 
no  sturdy  pose,  but  let  the  life-stream  run  its  course  for  a 
less  confined  embankment.  Sapphire  sea,  sapphire  sky: 
one  believes  in  life  there,  thrills  with  it,  when  life  is  ebb- 
ing :  ay,  as  warmly  as  when  life  is  at  the  flow  in  our  sick 
and  shrivelled  North  —  the  climate  for  dried  fish  !  Verily 
the  second  death  of  hearing  that  a  gold-haired  Lucretia 
had  been  on  the  island  seven  days  earlier,  was  harder  to 
bear.     Tell  me  frankly  —  the  music  in  Italy?  " 

"Amorous    and    martial,    brainless   and    monotonous." 

"Excellent !  "  his  eyes  flashed  delightedly.  "  O  comrade 
of  comrades  !  that  year  lost  to  me  will  count  heavily  as 
I  learn  to  value  those  I  have  gained.  Yes,  brainless! 
There,  in  music,  we  beat  them,  as  politically  France  beats 
us.  No  life  without  brain !  The  brainless  in  Art  and  in 
Statecraft  are  nothing  but  a  little  more  obstructive  than 
the  dead.  It  is  less  easy  to  cut  a  way  through  them.  But 
it  must  be  done,  or  the  Philistine  will  be  as  the  locust  in 
his  increase,  and  devour  the  green  blades  of  the  earth. 
You  have  been  trained  to  shudder  at  the  demagogue?  " 

"I  do  not  shudder,"  said  Clotilde. 


22  THE  TKAGIC   COMEDIANS 

"A  diamond  from  the  lapidary  !  —  Your  sentences  have 
many  facets.  Well,  you  are  conversing  with  a  demagogue, 
an  avowed  one :  a  demagogue  and  a  Jew.  You  take  it  as 
a  matter  of  course:  you  should  exhibit  some  sparkling 
incredulity.  The  Christian  is  like  the  politician  in  sup- 
posing the  original  obverse  of  him  everlastingly  the  same, 
after  the  pattern  of  the  monster  he  was  originally  taught 
to  hate.  But  the  Jew  has  been  a  little  christianized,  and 
we  have  a  little  bejewed  the  Christian.  So  with  dema- 
gogues: as  we  see  the  conservative  crumbling,  we  grow 
conservatived.  Try  to  think  individually  upon  what  you 
have  to  learn  collectively  —  that  is  your  task.  You  are 
of  the  few  who  will  be  equal  to  it.  We  are  not  men  of 
blood,  believe  me.  I  am  not.  For  example,  I  detest  and 
I  decline  the  duel.  I  have  done  it,  and  proved  myself  a 
man  of  metal  notwithstanding.  To  say  nothing  of  the 
inhumanity,  the  senselessness  of  duelling  revolts  me. 
'Tis  a  folly,  so  your  nobles  practise  it,  and  your  royal 
wiseacre  sanctions.  No  blood  for  me :  and  yet  I  tell  you 
that  whatever  opposes  me,  I  will  sweep  away.  How? 
With  the  brain.  If  we  descend  to  poor  brute  strength  or 
brutal  craft,  it  is  from  failing  in  the  brain :  we  quit  the 
leadership  of  our  forces,  and  the  descent  is  the  beast's 
confession.  Do  I  say  how?  Perhaps  by  your  aid.  —  You 
do  not  start  and  cry :  '  Mine  !  '  That  is  well.  I  have  not 
much  esteem  for  non-professional  actresses.  ^  They  are 
numerous  and  not  entertaining.  —  You  leave  it  to  me  to 
talk." 

"Could  I  do  better?" 

"You  listen  sweetly." 

"It  is  because  I  like  to  hear." 

"You  have  the  pearly  little  ear  of  a  shell  on  the  sand." 

"  With  the  great  sea  sounding  near  it !  " 

Alvan  drew  closer  to  her. 

"  I  look  into  your  eyes  and  perceive  that  one  may  listen 
to  you  and  speak  to  you.  Heart  to  heart,  then !  Yes,  a 
sea  to  lull  you,  a  sea  to  win  you  —  temperately,  let  us 
hope;  by  storm,  if  need  be.  My  prize  is  found!  The 
good  friend  who  did  the  part  of  Iris  for  us  came  bounding 
to  me:  'I  have  discovered  the  wife  for  you,  Alvan.'  I 
had  previously  heard  of  her  from  another  as  having  touched 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEBIAKS  23 

the  islet  of  Capri.  *  But, '  said  Kollin, '  she  is  a  gold-crested 
serpent  —  slippery!'  Is  she?  That  only  tells  me  of  a 
little  more  to  be  mastered.  I  feel  my  future  now.  Hitherto 
it  has  been  a  land  without  sunlight.  Do  you  know  how 
the  look  of  sunlight  on  a  land  calms  one?  It  signifies  to 
the  eye  possession  and  repose,  the  end  gained  —  not  the 
end  to  labour,  just  heaven !  but  peace  to  the  heart's  crav- 
ing, which  is  the  renewal  of  strength  for  work,  the  fresh 
dip  in  the  waters  of  life.  Conjure  up  your  vision  of 
Italy.  Remember  the  meaning  of  Italian  light  and  colour : 
the  clearness,  the  luminous  fulness,  the  thoughtful  shadows. 
Mountain  and  wooded  headland  are  solid,  deep  to  the  eye, 
spirit-speaking  to  the  mind.  They  throb.  You  carve 
shapes  of  gods  out  of  that  sky,  the  sea,  those  peaks. 
They  live  with  you.  How  they  satiate  the  vacant  soul  by 
influx,  and  draw  forth  the  troubled  from  its  prickly 
nest !  —  Well,  and  you  are  my  sunlighted  land.  And  you 
will  have  to  be  fought  for.  And  I  see  not  the  less  repose 
in  the  prospect !  Part  of  you  may  be  shifty  —  sand.  The 
sands  are  famous  for  their  golden  shiniug  —  as  you  shine. 
Well,  then,  we  must  make  the  quicksands  concrete.  I 
have  a  perfect  faith  in  you,  and  in  the  winning  of  you. 
Clearly  you  will  have  to  be  fought  for.  I  should  imagine 
it  a  tough  battle  to  come.  But  as  I  doubt  neither  you  nor 
myself,  I  see  beyond  it.  —  We  use  phrases  in  common,  and 
aphorisms,  it  appears.  Why?  but  that  our  minds  act  in 
unison.  What  if  I  were  to  make  a  comparison  of  you  with 
Paris?  —  the  city  of  Paris,  Lutetia.'' 

"Could  you  make  it  good?  "  said  Clotilde. 

He  laughed  and  postponed  it  for  a  series  of  skimming 
discussions,  like  swallow-flights  from  the  nest  beneath  the 
eaves  to  the  surface  of  the  stream,  perpetually  reverting 
to  her,  and  provoking  spirited  replies,  leading  her  to  fly 
with  him  in  expectation  of  a  crowning  compliment  that 
must  be  singular  and  was  evidently  gathering  confirma- 
tion in  his  mind  from  the  touchings  and  probings  of  her 
character  on  these  flights. 

She  was  like  a  lady  danced  off  her  sense  of  fixity,  to 
whom  the  appearance  of  her  whirling  figure  in  the  mirror 
is  both  wonderful  and  reassuring;  and  she  liked  to  be 
discussed,   to  be  compared  to  anything,   for  the  sake  of 


24  THE  TRAGIC   COMEBIAKS 

being  the  subject,  so  as  to  be  sure  it  was  she  that  listened 
to  a  man  who  was  a  stranger,  claiming  her  for  his  own ; 
sure  it  was  she  that  by  not  breaking  from  him  implied 
consent,  she  that  went  speeding  in  this  magical  rapid 
round  which  slung  her  more  and  more  out  of  her  actual 
into  her  imagined  self,  compelled  her  to  proceed,  denied 
her  the  right  to  faint  and  call  upon  the  world  for  aid,  and 
catch  at  it,  though  it  was  close  by  and  at  a  signal  would 
stop  the  terrible  circling.  The  world  was  close  by  and 
had  begun  to  stare.  She  half  apprehended  that  fact,  but 
she  was  in  the  presence  of  the  irresistible.  In  the  presence 
of  the  irresistible  the  conventional  is  a  crazy  structure 
swept  away  with  very  little  creaking  of  its  timbers  on  the 
flood.  When  we  feel  its  power  we  are  immediately  primi- 
tive creatures,  flying  anywhere  in  space,  indifferent  to 
nakedness.  And  after  trimming  ourselves  for  it,  the  sage 
asks  your  permission  to  add,  it  will  be  the  thing  we  are 
most  certain  some  day  to  feel.  Had  not  she  trimmed 
herself?  —  so  much  that  she  had  won  fame  for  an  original- 
ity mistaken  by  her  for  the  independent  mind,  and  peril- 
ously, for  courage.  She  had  trimmed  herself  and  Alvan 
too  —  herself  to  meet  it,  and  Alvan  to  be  it.  Her  famous 
originality  was  a  trumpet  blown  abroad  proclaiming  her 
the  prize  of  the  man  who  sounded  as  loudly  his  esteem  for 
the  quality  —  in  a  fair  young  woman  of  good  breeding. 
Each  had  evoked  the  other.  Their  common  anticipations 
differed  in  this,  that  he  had  expected  comeliness,  she  the 
reverse  —  an  Esau  of  the  cities ;  and  seeing  superb  manly 
beauty  in  the  place  of  the  thick-featured  sodden  satyr  of 
her  miscreating  fancy,  the  irresistible  was  revealed  to  her 
on  its  divinest  whirlwind. 

They  both  desired  beauty;  they  had  each  stipulated 
for  beauty  before  captivity  could  be  acknowledged;  and 
he  beholding  her  very  attractive  comeliness,  walked  into 
the  net,  deeming  the  same  a  light  thing  to  wear,  and 
rather  a  finishing  grace  to  his  armory;  but  she,  a  trained 
disciple  of  the  conventional  in  social  behaviour  (as  to  the 
serious  points  and  the  extremer  trifles),  fluttered  exceed- 
ingly; she  knew  not  what  she  was  doing,  where  her  hand 
was,  how  she  looked  at  him,  how  she  drank  in  his  looks 
on  her.     Her    woman's   eyes    had  no   guard;    they  had 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  25 

scarcely  speculation.  She  saw  nothiDg  in  its  passing,  but 
everything  backward,  under  haphazard  flashes.  The  sight 
of  her  hand  disengaged  told  her  it  had  been  detained;  a 
glance  at  the  company  reminded  her  that  those  were  men 
and  women  who  had  been  other  than  phantoms;  recollec- 
tions of  the  words  she  listened  to,  assented  to,  replied  to, 
displayed  the  gulfs  she  had  crossed.  And  nevertheless 
her  brain  was  as  quick  as  his  to  press  forward  to  pluck 
the  themes  which  would  demonstrate  her  mental  vividness 
and  at  least  indicate  her  force  of  character.  The  splendour 
of  the  man  quite  extinguished,  or  over-brightened,  her 
sense  of  personal  charm ;  she  set  fire  to  her  brain  to  shine 
intellectually,  treating  the  tale  of  hei-  fair  face  as  a  childish 
tale  that  might  have  a  grain  of  truth  in  it,  some  truth,  a 
very  little,  and  that  little  nearly  worthless,  merely  womanly, 
a  poor  charm  of  her  sex.  The  intellectual  endowment 
was  rarer:  still  rarer  the  moral  audacity.  0,  to  match 
this  man's  embracing  discursiveness  !  his  ardour,  his  com- 
placent energy,  the  full  strong  sound  he  brought  out  of  all 
subjects!  He  struck,  and  they  rang.  There  was  a  bell 
in  everything  for  him ;  Nature  gave  out  her  cry,  and  sig- 
nificance was  on  all  sides  of  the  universe;  no  dead  stuff, 
no  longer  any  afflicting  lumpishness.  His  brain  was  vivi- 
fying light.  And  how  humane  he  was!  how  supremely 
tolerant !  Where  she  had  really  thought  instead  of  flip- 
pantly tapping  at  the  doors  of  thought,  or  crying  vagrantly 
for  an  echo,  his  firm  footing  in  the  region  thrilled  her; 
and  where  she  had  felt  deeper  than  fancifully,  his  wise 
tenderness  overwhelmed.  Strange  to  consider:  with  all 
his  precious  gifts,  which  must  make  the  gift  of  life  thrice 
dear  to  him,  he  was  fearless.  Less  by  what  he  said  than 
by  divination  she  discerned  that  he  knew  not  fear.  If  for 
only  that,  she  would  have  hung  to  him  like  his  shadow. 
She  could  have  detected  a  brazen  pretender.  A  meanei 
mortal  vaunting  his  great  stores  she  would  have  written 
down  coxcomb.  Her  social  training  and  natural  percep- 
tion raised  her  to  a  height  to  measure  the  bombastical 
and  distinguish  it  from  the  eloquently  lofty.  He  spoke 
of  himself,  as  the  towering  Alp  speaks  out  at  a  first  view, 
bidding  that  which  he  was  be  known.  Fearless,  confident, 
able,  he  could  not  but  be,  as  he  believed  himself,  indomi- 


26  THE  TKAGIC   COMEDIANS 

table.  She  who  was  this  man's  mate  would  consequently 
wed  his  possessions,  including  courage.  Clotilde  at  once 
reached  the  conclusion  of  her  having  it  in  an  equal  degree. 
Was  she  not  displaying  it?  The  worthy  people  of  the 
company  stared,  as  she  now  perceived,  and  she  was  indif- 
ferent; her  relatives  were  present  without  disturbing  her 
exaltation.  She  wheeled  above  their  heads  in  the  fiery 
chariot  beside  her  sungod.  It  could  not  but  be  courage, 
active  courage,  superior  to  her  previous  tentative  steps 
—  the  verbal  temerities  she  had  supposed  so  dauntless. 
For  now  she  was  in  action,  now  she  was  being  tried  to 
match  the  preacher  and  incarnation  of  the  virtues  of 
action ! 

Alvan  shaped  a  comparison  of  her  with  Paris,  his  beloved 
of  cities  —  the  symbolized  goddess  of  the  lightning  brain 
that  is  quick  to  conceive,  eager  to  realize  ideas,  impas- 
sioned for  her  hero,  but  ever  putting  him  to  proof,  grace- 
ful beyond  all  rhyme,  colloquial  as  never  the  Muse;  light 
in  light  hands,  yet  valiant  unto  death  for  a  principle;  and 
therefore  not  light,  anything  but  light  in  strong  hands, 
very  steadfast  rather:  and  oh!  constantly  entertaining. 

The  comparison  had  to  be  strained  to  fit  the  living 
lady's  shape.  Did  he  think  it,  or  a  dash  of  something 
like  it? 

His  mood  was  luxurious.  He  had  found  the  fair  and 
youthful  original  woman  of  refinement  and  station  desired 
by  him.  He  had  good  reason  to  wish  to  find  her.  Hav- 
ing won  a  name,  standing  on  firm  ground,  with  promise  of 
a  great  career,  chief  of  what  was  then  taken  for  a  growing 
party  and  is  not  yet  a  collapsed,  nor  will  be,  though  the 
foot  on  it  is  iron,  his  youth  had  flown  under  the  tutelage 
of  an  extraordinary  Mentor,  whom  to  call  Athene  robs  the 
goddess  of  her  personal  repute  for  wisdom  in  conduct, 
but  whose  head  was  wise,  wise  as  it  was  now  grey.  Verily 
she  was  original;  and  a  grey  original  should  seem  remark- 
able  above  a  blooming  blonde.  If  originality  m  woman 
were  our  prime  request,  the  grey  should  bear  the  palm. 
She  has  gone  through  the  battle,  retaining  the  standard 
she  carried  into  it,  which  is  a  victory.  Alas,  that  grey, 
so  spirit-touching  in  Art,  should  be  so  wintry  in  reality  ! 

The  discovery  of  a  feminine  original  breathing  Spring, 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  27 

softer,  warmer  tlian  the  ancient  one,  gold  instead  of  snow 
crested,  and  fully  as  intrepid  as  devoted,  was  an  immense 
joy  to  Alvan.  He  took  it  luxuriously  because  lie  believed 
in  his  fortune,  a  kind  of  natal  star,  the  common  heritage 
of  the  adventurous,  that  brought  him  his  good  things  in 
time,  in  return  for  energetic  strivings  in  a  higher  direction 
apart  from  his  natural  longings.  Fortune  had  delayed,  he 
had  wintered  long.  All  the  sweeter  was  the  breath  of  the 
young  Spring.  That  exquisite  new  sweetness  robed  Clotilde 
in  the  attributes  of  the  person  dreamed  of  for  his  mate; 
and  deductively  assuming  her  to  possess  them,  he  could 
not  doubt  his  power  of  winning  her.  Barriers  are  for 
those  who  cannot  fly.  The  barriers  were  palpable  about  a 
girl  of  noble  Christian  birth:  so  was  the  courage  in  her 
which  would  give  her  wings,  he  thought,  coming  to  that 
judgement  through  the  mixture  of  his  knowledge  of  him- 
self and  his  perusal  of  her  exterior.  He  saw  that  she 
could  take  an  impression  deeply  enough  to  express  it  sin- 
cerely, and  he  counted  on  it,  sympathetically  endowing 
her  with  his  courage  to  support  the  originality  she  was 
famed  for. 

They  were  interrupted  between  whiles  by  weariful  men 
running  to  Alvan  for  counsel  on  various  matters  —  how  to 
play  their  game,  or  the  exact  phrasing  of  some  pregnant 
sentence  current  in  politics  or  literature.  He  satisfied 
them  severally  and  shouldered  them  away,  begging  for 
peace  that  night.  Clotilde  corroborated  his  accurate 
recital  of  the  lines  of  a  contested  verse  of  the  incom- 
parable Heinrich,  and  they  fell  to  capping  verses  of  the 
poet  —  lucid  metheglin,  with  here  and  there  no  dubious 
flavour  of  acid,  and  a  lively  sting  in  the  tail  of  the  honey. 
Sentiment,  cynicism,  and  satin  impropriety  and  scabrous, 
are  among  those  verses,  where  pure  poetry  has  a  recog- 
nized voice ;  but  the  lower  elements  constitute  the  popu- 
larity in  a  cultivated  society  inclining  to  wantonness  out 
of  bravado  as  well  as  by  taste.  Alvan,  looking  indolently 
royal  and  royally  roguish,  quoted  a  verse  that  speaks  of 
the  superfluousness  of  a  faithless  lady's  vowing  bite; 

"  The  kisses  were  in  the  course  of  things, 
The  hite  was  a  needless  addition." 


28  THE  TRAGIC  COIVIEDIANS 

Clotilde  could  not  repress  her  reddening  —  Count  Kollin 
had  repeated  too  much !  She  dropped  her  eyes,  with  a 
face  of  sculpture,  then  resumed  their  chatter.  He  spared 
her  the  allusion  to  Pompeius.  She  convinced  him  of  her 
capacity  for  reserve  besides  intrepidity,  and  flattered 
him  too  with  her  blush.  She  could  dare  to  say  to  Kollin 
what  her  scarlet  sensibility  forbade  her  touching  on  with 
him :  not  that  she  would  not  have  had  an  airy  latitude 
with  him  to  touch  on  what  she  pleased;  he  liked  her  for 
her  boldness  and  the  cold  peeping  of  the  senses  displayed 
in  it:  he  liked  also  the  distinction  she  made. 

The  cry  to  supper  conduced  to  a  further  insight  of  her 
adaptation  to  his  requirements  in  a  wife.  They  marched 
to  the  table  together,  and  sat  together,  and  drank  a  noble 
Rhine  wine  together  —  true  Rauenthal.  His  robustness 
of  body  and  soul  inspired  the  wish  that  his  well-born 
wife  might  be,  in  her  dainty  fashion,  yet  honestly  and 
without  mincing,  his  possible  boonfellow:  he  and  she, 
glass  in  hand,  thanking  the  bountiful  heavens,  blessing 
mankind  in  chorus.  It  belonged  to  his  hearty  dream  of 
the  wife  he  would  choose,  were  she  to  be  had.  The  posi- 
tion of  interpreter  of  heaven's  benevolence  to  mankind 
through  his  own  enjoyment  of  the  gifts,  was  one  that  he 
sagaciously  demanded  for  himself,  sharing  it  with  the 
Philistine  unknowingly;  and  to  have  a  wife  no  less  wise 
than  he  on  this  throne  of  existence  was  a  rosy  exaltation. 
Clotilde  kindled  to  the  hint  of  his  festival  mood  of  Solomon 
at  the  banquet.  She  was  not  devoid  of  a  discernment  of 
flavours;  she  had  heard  grave  judges  at  her  father's  board 
profoundly  deliver  their  verdicts  upon  this  and  that  vine- 
yard and  vintage;  and  it  is  a  note  of  patriotism  in  her 
country  to  be  enthusiastic  for  wine  of  the  Rhine:  she 
was,  moreover,  thirsty  from  much  talking  and  excitement. 
She  drank  her  glass  relishingly,  declaring  the  wine 
princely.  Alvan  smacked  his  hands  in  a  rapture :  "  You 
are  not  for  the  extract  of  raisin  our  people  have  taken  to 
copy  from  French  Sauternes,  to  suit  a  female  predilection 
for  sugar?" 

"No,  no,  the  grape  for  me!"  said  she:  "the  Rhine 
grape  with  the  elf  in  it,  and  the  silver  harp  and  the  stained 
legend ! " 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  29 

"Glorious!" 

He  toasted  the  grape.  "Wine  of  the  grape  is  the  young 
bride  —  the  young  sun-bride  !  divine,  and  never  too  sweet, 
never  cloying  like  the  withered  snn-dried,  with  its  one 
drop  of  concentrated  sugar,  that  becomes  ten  of  gout.  No 
raisin-juice  for  us !  None  of  their  too-long-on-the-stem 
clusters !  We  are  for  the  blood  of  the  grape  in  her  youth, 
her  heaven-kissing  ardour.  I  have  a  cellar  charged  with 
the  bravest  of  the  Rhine.  We  —  will  we  not  assail  it, 
bleed  it  in  the  gallant  days  to  come?  we  two!"  The 
picture  of  his  bride  and  him  drinking  the  sun  down  after 
a  day  of  savage  toil  was  in  the  shout  —  a  burst  unnoticed 
in  the  incessantly  verbalizing  buzz  of  a  continental  supper- 
table.  Clotilde  acquiesced:  she  chimed  to  it  like  a  fair 
boonfellow  of  the  rollicking  faun.  She  was  realizing 
fairyland. 

They  retired  to  the  divan-corner  where  it  was  you-and- 
I  between  them  as  with  rivulets  meeting  and  branching, 
running  parallel,  uniting  and  branching  again,  divided 
by  the  theme,  but  unending  in  the  flow  of  the  harmony. 
So  ran  their  chirping  arguments  and  diversions.  The 
carrying  on  of  a  prolonged  and  determined  you-and-I  in 
company  intimates  to  those  undetermined  floating  atoms 
about  us  that  a  certain  sacred  something  is  in  process  of 
formation,  or  has  formed;  and  people  looked,  and  looked 
hard  at  the  pair,  and  at  one  another  afterward:  none 
approached  them.  The  Signor  conjuror  who  has  a  thou- 
sand arts  for  conjuring  with  nature  was  generally  con- 
sidered to  have  done  that  night  his  most  ancient  and 
reputedly  fabulous  trick  — ■  the  dream  of  poets,  rarely  wit- 
nessed anywhere,  and  almost  too  wonderful  for  credence 
in  a  haunt  of  our  later  civilization.  Yet  there  it  was :  the 
sudden  revelation  of  the  intense  divinity  to  a  couple  fused 
in  oneness  by  his  apparition,  could  be  perceived  of  all 
having  man  and  woman  in  them;  love  at  first  sight  was 
visible.  "Who  ever  loved  that  loved  not  at  first  sight?" 
And  if  nature,  character,  circumstance,  and  a  maid  clever 
at  dressing  her  mistress's  golden  hair,  did  prepare  them 
for  Love's  lighting-match,  not  the  less  were  they  pro- 
claimingly  alight  and  in  full  blaze.  Likewise,  Time, 
imperious  old  gentleman  though  we  know  him  to  l3e,  with 


30  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

his  fussy  reiterations  concerning  the  hour  for  bed  and 
sleep,  bowed  to  the  magical  fact  of  their  condition,  and 
forbore  to  warn  them  of  his  passing  from  night  to  day. 
He  had  to  go,  he  must,  he  has  to  be  always  going,  but  as 
long  as  he  could  he  left  them  on  their  bank  by  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  where  a  shadow-cycle  of  the  eternal  wound 
a  circle  for  them  and  allowed  them  to  imagine  they  had 
thrust  that  old  driver  of  the  dusty  high-road  quietly  out 
of  the  way.  They  were  ungrateful,  of  course,  when  the 
performance  of  his  duties  necessitated  his  pulling  them 
up  beside  him  pretty  smartl}^,  but  he  uttered  no  prophecy 
of  ever  intending  to  rob  them  of  the  celestial  moments 
they  had  cut  from  him  and  meant  to  keep  between  them 
"for  ever,"  and  fresh. 

The  hour  was  close  on  the  dawn  of  a  March  morning. 
Alvan  assisted  at  the  cloaking  and  hooding  of  Clotilde. 
Her  relatives  were  at  hand;  they  hung  by  while  he  led 
her  to  the  stairs  and  down  into  a  spacious  moonlight  that 
laid  the  traceries  of  the  bare  tree-twigs  clear-black  on 
grass  and  stone. 

"A  night  to  head  the  Spring !  "  said  Alvan.  "Come." 
He  lifted  her  off  the  steps  and  set  her  on  the  ground,  as 
one  who  had  an  established  right  to  the  privilege:  and 
she  did  not  contest  it,  nor  did  her  people,  so  kingly  was 
he,  arrayed  in  the  thunder  of  the  bolt  which  had  struck 
the  pair.  These  things,  and  many  things  that  islands 
know  not  of,  are  done  upon  continents,  where  perhaps 
traditions  of  the  awfulness  of  Love  remain  more  potent  in 
society;  or  it  may  be,  that  an  island  atmosphere  dispos- 
sesses the  bolt  of  its  promptitude  to  strike,  or  the  breast- 
plates of  the  islanders  are  strengthened  to  resist  the  bolt, 
or  no  tropical  heat  is  there  to  create  and  launch  it,  or 
nothing  is  to  be  seen  of  it  for  the  haziness,  or  else  giants 
do  not  walk  there.  But  even  where  he  walked,  amid  a 
society  intellectually  fostering  sentiment,  in  a  land  bow- 
ing to  see  the  simplicity  of  the  mystery  paraded,  Alvan's 
behaviour  was  passing  heteroclite.  He  needed  to  be  the 
kingly  fellow  he  was,  crowned  by  another  kingly  fellow  — 
the  lord  of  hearts  —  to  impose  it  uninterruptedly.  "  She 
is  mine;  I  have  won  her  this  night!"  his  bearing  said; 
and  Clotilde's  acquiesced ;  and  the  worthy  couple  follow- 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  31 

ing  them  had  to  exhibit  a  copy  of  the  same,  much  won- 
dering. Partly  by  habit,  and  of  his  natural  astuteness, 
Alvan  peremptorily  usurped  a  lead  that  once  taken  could 
not  easily  be  challenged,  and  would  roll  him  on  a  good 
tideway  strong  in  his  own  passion  and  his  lady^s  up  against 
the  last  defences  —  her  parents.  A  difficulty  with  them 
was  foreseen.  What  is  a  difficulty  !  —  a  gate  in  the  hunt- 
ing-field: an  opponent  on  a  platform:  a  knot  beneath  a 
sword:  the  dam  to  waters  that  draw  from  the  heavens. 
Not  desiring  it  in  this  case  —  it  would  have  been  to  love 
the  difficulty  better  than  the  woman  —  he  still  enjoyed  the 
bracing  prospect  of  a  resistance,  if  only  because  it  was  a 
portion  of  the  dowry  she  brought  him.  Good  soldiers 
(who  have  won  their  grades)  are  often  of  a  peaceful  temper 
and  would  not  raise  an  invocation  to  war,  but  a  view  of 
the  enemy  sets  their  pugnacious  forces  in  motion,  the 
bugle  fills  their  veins  with  electrical  fire,  till  they  are  as 
racers  on  the  race-course.  His  inmost  hearty  devil  was 
glad  of  a  combat  that  pertained  to  his  possession  of  her, 
for  battle  gives  the  savour  of  the  passion  to  win,  and  vic- 
tory dignifies  a  prize:  he  was,  however,  resolved  to  have 
it,  if  possible,  according  to  the  regular  arrangement  of 
such  encounters,  formal,  without  snatchings,  without  rash 
violence;  a  victory  won  by  personal  ascendancy,  reason- 
ing eloquence. 

He  laughed  to  hear  her  say,  in  answer  to  a  question  as 
to  her  present  feelings :  "  I  feel  that  I  am  carried  away  by 
a  centaur !  "  The  comparison  had  been  used  or  implied  to 
him  before. 

"  No !  "  said  he,  responding  to  a  host  of  memories,  to 
shake  them  otf,  "  no  more  of  the  quadruped  man !  You 
tempt  him  —  may  I  tell  you  that?  Why,  now,  this  moment, 
at  the  snap  of  my  fingers,  what  is  to  hinder  our  taking  the 
short  cut  to  happiness,  centaur  and  nymph?  One  leap 
and  a  gallop,  and  we  should  be  into  the  morning,  leaving 
night  to  grope  for  us,  parents  and  friends  to  run  about  for 
the  wits  they  lose  in  running.  But  no !  No  more  scan- 
dals. That  silver  moon  invites  us  by  its  very  spell  of 
bright  serenity,  to  be  mad:  just  as,  when  you  drink  of 
a  reverie,  the  more  prolonged  it  is  the  greater  the  readiness 
for  wild  delirium  at  the  end  of  the  draught.     But  no  ! "  his 


32  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

voice  deepened  —  "  the  handsome  face  of  the  orb  that  lights 
us  would  be  well  enough  were  it  only  a  gallop  between  us 
two.  Dearest,  the  orb  that  lights  us  two  for  a  lifetime 
must  be  taken  all  round,  and  I  have  been  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  moon:  I  have  seen  the  other  face  of  it  —  a 
visage  scored  with  regrets,  dead  dreams,  burnt  passions, 
bald  illusions,  and  the  like,  the  like  !  —  sunless,  waterless, 
without  a  flower!  It  is  the  old  volcano  land:  it  grows 
one  bitter  herb :  if  ever  you  see  my  mouth  distorted  you 
will  know  I  am  revolving  a  taste  of  it;  and  as  I  need  the 
antidote  you  give,  I  will  not  be  the  centaur  to  win  you, 
for  that  is  the  land  where  he  stables  himself;  yes,  there 
he  ends  his  course,  and  that  is  the  herb  he  finishes  by 
pasturing  on.  You  have  no  dislike  of  metaphors  and 
parables?     We  Jews  are  a  parable  people." 

"I  am  sure  I  do  understand  .  .  ."  said  Clotilde,  catch- 
ing her  breath  to  be  conscientious,  lest  he  should  ask  her 
for  an  elucidation. 

"Provided  always  that  the  metaphor  be  not  like  the 
metaphysician's  treatise  on  Nature:  a  torch  to  see  the 
sunrise!  —  You  were  going  to  add — ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  I  think  I  understand,  but  you  run 
away  with  me  still.'' 

"May  the  sensation  never  quit  you!  " 

"It  will  not." 

"What  a  night!"  Alvan  raised  his  head:  "A  night 
cast  for  our  first  meeting  and  betrothing !  You  are  near 
home?" 

"The  third  house  yonder  in  the  moonlight." 

"  The  moonlight  lays  a  white  hand  on  it !  " 

"That  is  my  window  sparkling." 

"  That  is  the  vestal's  cresset.     Shall  I  blow  it  out?  " 

"  You  are  too  far.     And  it  is  a  celestial  flame,  sir  !  " 

"Celestial  in  truth!  My  hope  of  heaven!  Dian's 
crescent  will  be  ever  on  that  house  for  me,  Clotilde.  I 
would  it  were  leagues  distant,  or  the  door  not  for- 
bidden ! " 

"  I  could  minister  to  a  good  knight  humbly. 

Alvan  bent  to  her,  on  a  sudden  prompting: 

"When  do  father  and  mother  arrive? " 

**  To-morrow." 


THE  TKAGIC  COMEDIANS  33 

He  took  her  hand.     "  To-morrow,  then !     The  worst  of 
omens  is  delay." 

Clotilde  faintly  gasped.  Could  he  mean  it?  —  he  of  so 
evil  a  name  in  her  family  and  circle  ! 

Her  playfulness  and  pleasure  in  the  game  of  courtliness 
forsook  her. 

"  Tell  me  the  hour  when  it  will  be  most  convenient  to 
them  to  receive  me,"  said  Alvan. 

She  stopped  walking  in  sheer  fright. 

"My  father  — my  mother?"  she  said,  imaging  within 
her  the  varied  horror  of  each  and  the  commotion. 

"  To-morrow  or  the  day  after  —  not  later.  No  delays  ! 
You  are  mine,  we  are  one;  and  the  sooner  my  cause  is 
pleaded  the  better  for  us  both.  If  I  could  step  in  and  see 
them  this  instant,  it  would  be  forestalling  mischances. 
Do  you  not  see,  that  time  is  due  to  us,  and  the  minutes 
are  our  gold  slipping  away?  " 

She  shrank  her  hand  back:  she  did  not  wish  to  with- 
draw the  hand,  only  to  shun  the  pledge  it  signified.  He 
opened  an  abyss  at  her  feet,  and  in  deadly  alarm  of  him 
she  exclaimed:  "Oh!  not  yet;  not  immediately."  She 
trembled,  she  made  her  petition  dismal  by  her  anguish  of 
speechlessness.  "  There  will  be  such  .  .  .  not  yet !  Per- 
haps later.  They  must  not  be  troubled  yet  —  at  present. 
I  am  ...  I  cannot  —  pray,  delay  ! " 

"  But  you  are  mine  ! "  said  Alvan.  "  You  feel  it  as  I  do. 
There  can  be  no  real  impediment?  " 

She  gave  an  empty  sigh  that  sought  to  be  a  run  of 
entreaties.  In  fear  of  his  tongue  she  caught  at  words  to 
baffle  it,  senseless  of  their  imbecility:  "Do  not  insist: 
yes,  in  time :  they  will  —  they  —  they  may.  My  father  is 
not  very  well  ...  my  mother:  she  is  not  very  well. 
They  are  neither  of  them  very  well:  not  at  present!  — 
Spare  them  at  present." 

To  avoid  being  carried  away,  she  flung  herself  from  the 
centaur's  back  to  the  disenchanting  earth;  she  separated 
herself  from  him  in  spirit,  and  beheld  him  as  her  father 
and  mother  and  her  circle  would  look  on  this  pretender  to 
her  hand,  with  his  lordly  air,  his  Jew  blood,  and  his  hiss- 
ing reputation  —  for  it  was  a  reputation  that  stirred  the 
snakes  and  the  geese  of  the  world.     She  saw  him  in  their 


34  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

eyes,  quite  coldly:  which  imaginative  capacity  was  one 
of  the  remarkable  feats  of  cowardice,  active  and  cold  of 
brain  even  while  the  heart  is  active  and  would  be  warm. 

He  read  something  of  her  weakness.  "And  supposing 
I  decide  that  it  must  be?  " 

"How  can  I  supplicate  you  !  "  she  replied  with  a  shiver, 
feeling  that  she  had  lost  her  chance  of  slipping  from  his 
grasp,  as  trained  women  of  the  world,  or  very  sprightly 
young  wits  know  how  to  do  at  the  critical  moment :  and 
she  had  lost  it  by  being  too  sincere.  Her  cowardice 
appeared  to  her  under  that  aspect. 

"Now  I  perceive  that  the  task  is  harder,"  said  Alvan, 
seeing  her  huddled  in  a  real  dismay.  "  Why  will  you  not 
rise  to  my  level  and  fear  nothing !  The  way  is  clear :  we 
have  only  to  take  the  step.  Have  you  not  seen  to-night 
that  we  are  fated  for  one  another?  It  is  your  destiny,  and 
trifling  with  destiny  is  a  dark  business.  Look  at  me.  Do 
you  doubt  my  having  absolute  control  of  myself  to  bear 
whatever  they  put  on  me  to  bear,  and  hold  firmly  to  my 
will  to  overcome  them!     Oh!  no  delays." 

"Yes!  "  she  cried;  "yes,  there  must  be." 

"You  say  it?" 

The  courage  to  repeat  her  cry  was  wanting. 

She  trembled  visibly :  she  could  more  readily  have  bid- 
den him  bear  her  hence  than  have  named  a  day  for  the 
interview  with  her  parents;  but  desperately  she  feared 
that  he  would  be  the  one  to  bid;  and  he  had  this  of  the 
character  of  destiny  about  him,  that  she  felt  in  him  a 
maker  of  facts.  He  was  her  dream  in  human  shape,  her 
eagle  of  men,  and  she  felt  like  a  lamb  in  the  air;  she  had 
no  resistance,  only  terror  of  his  power,  and  a  crushing 
new  view  of  the  nature  of  reality. 

"I  see!"  said  he,  and  his  breast  fell.  Her  timid  ina- 
bility to  join  with  him  for  instant  action  reminded  him 
that  he  carried  many  weights:  a  bad  name  among  her 
people  and  class,  and  chains  in  private.  He  was  old 
enough  to  strangle  his  impulses,  if  necessary,  or  any  of 
the  brood  less  fiery  than  the  junction  of  his  passions. 
"  Well,  well !  —  but  we  might  so  soon  have  broken  through 
the  hedge  into  the  broad  high-road !  It  is  but  to  deter- 
mine to  do  it  —  to  take  the  bold  short  path  instead  of  the 


THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIAl^S  85 

wearisome  circuit.  Just  a  little  lightning  in  the  brain 
and  tightening  of  the  heart.  Battles  are  won  in  that 
way:  not  by  tender  girls!  and  she  is  a  girl,  and  the  task 
is  too  much  for  her.  So,  then,  we  are  in  your  hands, 
child!  Adieu,  and  let  the  gold-crested  serpent  glide  to 
her  bed,  and  sleep,  dream,  and  wake,  and  ask  herself  in 
the  morning  whether  she  is  not  a  wedded  soul.  Is  she 
not  a  serpent?  gold-crested,  all  the  world  may  see;  and 
with  a  mortal  bite,  I  know.  I  have  had  the  bite  before 
the  kisses.  That  is  rather  an  unjust  reversal  of  the  order 
of  things.  A  propos,  Hamlet  was  poisoned  —  ghost- 
poisoned." 

"Mad,  he  was  mad!"  said  Clotilde,  recovering  and 
smiling. 

"He  was  born  bilious;  he  partook  of  the  father's  con- 
stitution, not  the  mother's.  High-thoughted,  quick- 
nerved  to  follow  the  thought,  reflective,  if  an  interval 
yawned  between  his  hand  and  the  act,  he  was  by  nature 
two-minded:  as  full  of  conscience  as  a  nursing  mother 
that  sleeps  beside  her  infant:  —  she  hears  the  silent  begin- 
ning of  a  cry.  Before  the  ghost  walked  he  was  an  ele- 
mentary hero ;  one  puff  of  action  would  have  whiffed  away 
his  melancholy.  After  it,  he  was  a  dizzy  moralizer,  wait- 
ing for  the  winds  to  blow  him  to  his  deed  —  or  out.  The 
apparition  of  his  father  to  him  poisoned  a  sluggish  run  of 
blood,  and  that  venom  in  the  blood  distracted  a  head 
steeped  in  Wittenberg  philosophy.  With  metaphysics  in 
one  and  poison  in  the  other,  with  the  outer  world  opened 
on  him  and  this  world  stirred  to  confusion,  he  wore  the 
semblance  of  madness ;  he  was  throughout  sane ;  sick,  but 
never  with  his  reason  dethroned." 

"Nothing  but  madness  excuses  his  conduct  to  Ophelia!  " 

"  Poison  in  the  blood  is  a  pretty  good  apology  for  infi- 
delity to  a  lady." 

"No!" 

"Well,  to  an  Ophelia  of  fifty?  "  said  Alvan. 

Clotilde  laughed,  not  perfectly  assured  of  the  wherefore, 
but  pleased  to  be  able  to  laugh.  Her  friends  were  stand- 
ing at  the  house  door,  farewells  were  spoken,  Alvan  had 
gone.  And  then  she  thought  of  the  person  that  Ophelia 
of  fifty  might  be,  who  would  have  to  find  a  good  apology 


36  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

for  him  in  his  dose  of  snake-bite,  or  love  of  a  younger 
woman  whom  he  termed  gold-crested  serpent. 

He  was  a  lover,  surely  a  lover:  he  slid  off  to  some 
chance  bit  of  likeness  to  himself  in  every  subject  he 
discussed  with  her. 

And  she?  She  speeded  recklessly  on  the  back  of  the 
centaur  when  he  had  returned  to  the  state  of  phantom, 
and  the  realities  he  threatened  her  with  were  no  longer 
imminent. 


CHAPTEE  V. 


Clotilde  was  of  the  order  of  the  erring  who  should  by 
rights  have  a  short  sermon  to  preface  an  exposure  of  them, 
administering  the  whip  to  her  own  sex  and  to  ours,  lest 
we  scorn  too  much  to  take  an  interest  in  her.  The  exposure 
she  has  done  for  herself,  and  she  has  not  had  the  art  to 
frame  her  apology.  The  day  after  her  meeting  with  her 
eagle,  Alvan,  she  saw  Prince  Marko.  She  was  gentle  to 
him,  in  anticipation  of  his  grief;  she  could  hardly  be 
ungentle  on  account  of  his  obsequious  beauty,  and  when 
her  soft  eyes  and  voice  had  thrilled  him  to  an  acute  sensi- 
bility to  the  blow,  honourably  she  inflicted  it. 

"Marko,  my  friend,  you  know  that  I  cannot  be  false; 
then  let  me  tell  you  I  yesterday  met  the  man  who  has  but 
to  lift  his  hand  and  I  go  to  him,  and  he  may  lead  me 
whither  he  will." 

The  burning  eyes  of  her  Indian  Bacchus  fixed  on  her 
till  their  brightness  moistened  and  flashed. 

Whatever  was  for  her  happiness  he  bowed  his  head  to, 
he  said.     He  knew  the  man. 

Her  duty  was  thus  performed :  she  had  plighted  herself. 
For  the  first  few  days  she  was  in  dread  of  meeting,  seeing, 
or  hearing  of  Alvan.  She  feared  the  mention  of  a  name 
that  rolled  the  world  so  swiftly.  Her  parents  had  post- 
poned their  coming,  she  had  no  reason  for  instant  alarm; 
it  was  his  violent  earnestness,  his  imperial  self-confidence 
that  she  feared,  as  nervous  people  shrink  from  cannon: 
and  neither  meeting,   seeing,    nor  hearing  of  him,   she 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  37 

began  to  yearn,  like  the  child  whose  curiosity  is  refreshed 
by  a  desire  to  try  again  the  startling  thiog  which  fright- 
ened it.  Her  yearning  grew,  the  illusion  of  her  courage 
flooded  back ;  she  hoped  he  would  present  himself  to  claim 
her,  marvelled  that  he  did  not,  reproached  him ;  she  could 
almost  have  scorned  him  for  listening  to  the  hesitations  of 
the  despicable  girl  so  little  resembling  what  she  really 
•vv-as  —  a  poor  untried  girl,  anxious  only  on  behalf  of  her 
family  to  spare  them  a  sudden  shock.  Eemembering  her 
generous  considerations  in  their  interests,  she  thought  he 
should  have  known  that  the  creature  he  called  a  child 
would  have  yielded  upon  supplication  to  fly  with  him. 
Her  considerateness  for  him  too,  it  struck  her  next,  was 
the  cause  of  her  seeming  cowardly,  and  the  man  ought  to 
have  perceived  it  and  put  it  aside.  He  should  have  seen 
that  she  could  be  brave,  and  was  a  mate  for  him.  And  if 
his  shallow  experience  of  her  wrote  her  down  nerveless, 
his  love  should  be  doing. 

Was  it  love?  Her  restoration  to  the  belief  in  her  pos- 
sessing a  decided  will  whispered  of  high  achievements  she 
could  do  in  proof  of  love,  had  she  the  freedom  of  a  man. 
She  would  not  have  listened  (it  was  quite  true)  to  a  silly 
supplicating  girl ;  she  would  not  have  allowed  an  interval 
to  yawn  after  the  first  wild  wooing  of  her.  Prince  Marko 
loved.  Yes,  that  was  love !  It  failed  in  no  sign  of  the 
passion.  She  set  herself  to  study  it  in  Marko,  and  was 
moved  by  many  sentiments,  numbering  among  them  pity, 
thankfulness,  and  the  shiver  of  a  feeling  between  admira- 
tion and  pathetic  esteem,  like  that  the  musician  has  for  a 
precious  instrument  giving  sweet  sound  when  shattered. 
He  served  her  faithfully,  in  spite  of  his  distaste  for  some 
of  his  lady^s  commissions.  She  had  to  get  her  news  of 
Alvan  through  Marko.  He  brought  her  particulars  of  the 
old  trial  of  Alvan,  and  Alvan's  oration  in  defence  of  him- 
self for  a  lawless  act  of  devotion  to  the  baroness ;  nothing 
less  than  the  successfully  scheming  to  wrest  by  force  from 
that  lady's  enemy  a  document  precious  to  her  lawful  inter- 
ests. It  was  one  of  those  cases  which  have  a  really  high 
gallant  side  as  well  as  a  bad ;  an  excellent  case  for  rhetoric. 
Marko  supplied  the  world's  opinion  of  the  affair,  bravely 
owning  it  to  be  not  unfavourable.     Her  worthy  relatives, 


88  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

the  Frau  v.  Crestow  and  husband,  had  very  properly  fur- 
nished a  report  to  the  family  of  the  memorable  evening; 
and  the  hubbub  over  it,  with  the  epithets  applied  to  Alvan, 
intimated  how  he  would  have  been  received  on  a  visit  to 
demand  her  in  marriage.  There  was  no  chance  of  her 
being  allowed  to  enter  houses  where  this  "raging  dema- 
gogue and  popular  buffoon"  was  a  guest;  his  name  was 
banished  from  her  hearing,  so  she  was  compelled  to  have 
recourse  to  Marko.  Unable  to  take  such  services  without 
rewarding  him,  she  fondled:  it  pained  her  to  see  him 
suffer.  Those  who  toss  crumbs  to  their  domestic  favourites 
will  now  and  then  be  moved  to  toss  meat,  which  is  not  so 
good  for  them,  but  the  dumb  mendicant's  delight  in  it  is 
winning,  and  a  little  cannot  hurt.  Besides,  if  any  one  had 
a  claim  on  her  it  was  the  prince;  and  as  he  was  always 
adoring,  never  importunate,  he  restored  her  to  the  pedestal 
she  had  been  really  rudely  shaken  from  by  that  other  who 
had  caught  her  up  suddenly  into  the  air,  and  dropped  her ! 
A  hand  abandoned  to  her  slave  rewarded  him  immeasur- 
ably. A  heightening  of  the  reward  almost  took  his  life. 
In  the  peacefulness  of  dealing  with  a  submissive  love  that 
made  her  queenly,  the  royal,  which  plucked  her  from 
throne  to  footstool,  seemed  predatory  and  insolent.  Thus, 
after  that  scene  of  "first  love,"  in  which  she  had  been 
actress,  she  became  almost  (with  an  inward  thrill  or  two 
for  the  recovering  of  him)  reconciled  to  the  not  seeing  of 
the  noble  actor ;  for  nothing  could  erase  the  scene  —  it  was 
historic;  and  Alvan  would  always  be  thought  of  as  a 
delicious  electricity.  She  and  Marko  were  together  on 
the  summer  excursion  of  her  people,  and  quite  sisterly, 
she  could  say,  in  her  delicate  scorn  of  his  advantages  and 
her  emotions.  True  gentlemen  are  imperfectly  valued 
when  they  are  under  the  shadow  of  giants;  but  still 
Clotilde's  experience  of  a  giant's  manners  was  favourable 
to  the  liberty  she  could  enjoy  in  a  sisterly  intimacy  of 
this  kind,  rather  warmer  than  her  word  for  it  would 
imply.  She  owned  that  she  could  better  live  the  poetic 
life  —  that  is,  trifle  with  fire  and  reflect  on  its  charms  —  in 
the  society  of  Marko.  He  was  very  young,  he  was  little 
more  than  an  adolescent,  and  safely  timid ;  a  turn  of  her 
fingers  would  string  or  slacken  him.     One  could  play  on 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  39 

him  securely,  thinking  of  a  distant  day  —  and  some  ship- 
wreck of  herself  for  an  interlude  —  when  he  might  be  made 
happy. 

Her  strangest  mood  of  the  tender  cruelty  was  when  the 
passion  to  anatomize  him  beset  her.  The  ground  of  it 
was,  that  she  found  him  in  her  likeness,  adoring  as  she 
adored,  and  a  similar  loftiness;  now  grovelling,  now 
soaring;  the  most  radiant  of  beings,  the  most  abject;  and 
the  pleasure  she  had  of  the  sensational  comparison  was  in 
an  alteregoistic  home  she  found  in  him,  that  allowed  of 
her  gathering  a  picked  self-knowledge,  and  of  her  saying: 
*'  That  is  like  me :  that  is  very  like  me :  that  is  terribly 
like :  "  up  to  the  point  where  the  comparison  wooed  her  no 
longer  with  an  agreeable  lure  of  affinity,  but  nipped  her 
so  shrewdly  as  to  force  her  to  say :  "  That  is  he,  not  I :  " 
and  the  vivisected  youth  received  the  caress  which  quick- 
ened him  to  wholeness  at  a  touch.  It  was  given  with 
impulsive  tenderness,  in  pity  of  him.  Anatomy  is  the 
title  for  the  operation,  because  the  probing  of  herself  in 
another,  with  the  liberty  to  cease  probing  as  soon  as  it 
hurt  her,  allowed  her  while  unhurt  to  feel  that  she  prose- 
cuted her  researches  in  a  dead  body.  The  moment  her 
strong  susceptibility  to  the  likeness  shrank  under  a  stroke 
of  pain,  she  abstained  from  carving,  and  simultaneously 
conscious  that  he  lived,  she  was  kind  to  him. 

"This  love  of  yours,  Marko  —  is  it  so  deep? " 

"I  love  you." 

"  You  think  me  the  highest  and  best?  " 

"You  are." 

"  So  deep  that  you  could  bear  anything  from  me?  " 

"Try  me!" 

"Unfaithfulness?" 

"You  would  be  you!  " 

"  Do  you  not  say  that  because  you  cannot  suspect  evil  of 
me?" 

"  Let  me  only  see  you !  " 

"You  are  sure  that  happiness  would  not  smother  it?" 

"Has  it  done  so  yet?" 

"  Though  you  know  I  am  a  serpent  to  that  man's  music?  " 

"Ah,  heaven!  Oh!  —  do  not  say  music.  Yes!  though 
anything ! " 


40  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

'   "  And  if  ever  you  were  to  witness  the  power  of  his  just 
breathing  to  me?  " 

"I  would.  ...  Ah!" 

"What?  If  you  saw  his  music  working  the  spell?  — 
even  the  first  notes  of  his  prelude!" 

"I  would  wait." 

"It  might  be  for  long." 

"I  would  eat  my  heart." 

"Bitter!  bitter!" 

"I  would  wait  till  he  flung  you  off,  and  kneel  to  you." 

She  had  a  seizure  of  the  nerves. 

The  likeness  between  them  was,  she  felt,  too  flamingly 
keen  to  be  looked  at  further.  She  reached  to  the  dim  idea  of 
some  such  nauseous  devotion,  and  took  a  shot  in  her  breast 
as  she  did  so,  and  abjured  it,  and  softened  to  her  victim. 
Clotilde  opened  her  arms,  charming  away  her  wound,  as 
she  soothed  him,  both  by  the  act  of  soothing  and  the  re- 
flection that  she  could  not  be  so  very  like  one  whom  she 
pitied  and  consoled. 

She  was  charitably  tender.  If  it  be  thought  that  she 
was  cruel  to  excess,  plead  for  her  the  temptation  to  simple 
human  nature  at  sight  of  a  youth  who  could  be  precipi- 
tated into  the  writhings  of  dissolution,  and  raised  out  of  it 
by  a  smile.  This  young  man's  responsive  spirit  acted  on 
her  as  the  discovery  of  specifics  for  restoring  soundness 
to  the  frame  excites  the  brilliant  empiric :  he  would  slay 
us  with  benevolent  soul  to  show  the  miracle  of  our  revival. 
Worship  provokes  the  mortal  goddess  to  a  manifestation 
of  her  powers;  and  really  the  devotee  is  full  half  to 
blame. 

She  had  latterly  been  thinking  of  Alvan's  rejection  of 
the  part  of  centaur  j  and  his  phrase,  the  quadruped  man, 
breathed  meaning.  He  was  to  gain  her  lawfully  after 
dominating  her  utterly.  That  was  right,  but  it  levelled 
imagination.  There  is  in  the  sentimental  kingdom  of 
Love  a  form  of  reasoning,  by  which  a  lady  of  romantic 
notions  who  is  dominated  utterly,  will  ask  herself  why 
she  should  be  gained  lawfully :  and  she  is  moved  to  do  so 
by  the  consideration  that  if  the  latter,  no  necessity  can 
exist  for  the  former:  and  the  reverse.  In  the  union  of 
the  two  conditions  she  sees  herself  slavishly  domesticated. 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  41 

With  her  Indian  Bacchus  imagination  rose,  for  he  was 
pliant:  she  had  only  to  fancy,  and  he  was  beside  her.  — 
Quick  to  the  saddle,  away!  The  forest  of  terrors  is  ahead; 
they  are  at  the  verge  of  it;  a  last  hamlet  perches  on  its 
borders;  the  dwellers  have  haunted  faces;  the  timbers  of 
their  huts  lean  to  an  upright  in  wry  splinters;  warnings 
are  moaned  by  men  and  women  with  the  voice  of  a  night- 
wind  ;  but  on  and  on !  the  forest  cannot  be  worse  than  a 
world  defied.  They  drain  a  cup  of  milk  apiece  and  they 
spur,  for  this  is  the  way  to  the  golden  Indian  land  of  the 
planted  vine  and  the  lover's  godship.  —  Ludicrous!  There 
is  no  getting  farther  than  the  cup  of  milk  with  Marko. 
They  curvet  and  caper  to  be  forward  unavailingly.  It 
should  be  Alvan  to  bring  her  through  the  forest  to  the 
planted  vine  in  sunland.  Her  splendid  prose  Alvan  could 
do  what  the  sprig  of  poetry  can  but  suggest.  Never 
would  malicious  fairy  in  old  woman's  form  have  offered 
Alvan  a  cup  of  milk  to  paralyze  his  bride's  imagination 
of  him  confronting  perils.  Yet,  O  shameful  contrariety 
of  the  fates!  he  who  could,  will  not;  he  who  would, 
is  incapable.  Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  the  desire  of 
her  bosom  was  to  be  run  away  with  in  person.  Her  simple 
human  nature  wished  for  the  hero  to  lift  her  insensibly 
over  the  difficult  opening  chapter  of  the  romance  —  through 
"the  forest,"  or  half  imagined:  that  done,  she  felt  bold 
enough  to  meet  the  unimagined,  which,  as  there  was  no 
picture  of  it  to  terrify  her,  seemed  an  easy  gallop  into 
sunland.  —  Yes,  but  in  the  grasp  of  a  great  prose  giant, 
with  the  poetic  departed !  Naturally  she  turned  to  caress 
the  poetic  while  she  had  it  beside  her.  And  it  was  a 
wonder  to  observe  the  young  prince's  heavenly  sensitive- 
ness to  every  variation  of  her  moods.  He  knew  without 
hearing  when  she  had  next  seen  Alvan,  though  it  had  not 
been  to  speak  to  him.  He  looked,  and  he  knew.  The 
liquid  darkness  of  his  large  eastern  eyes  cast  a  light  that 
brought  her  heart  out :  she  confessed  it,  and  she  comforted 
him.  The  sweetest  in  the  woman  caused  her  double- 
dealing. 

Now  she  was  aware  that  Alvan  moved  behind  the  screen 
concealing  him.  A  common  friend  of  Alvan  and  her 
family  talked  to  her  of  him.     He  was  an  eminent  pro- 


42  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

fessor,  a  middle-aged,  grave  and  honourable  man,  not  igno- 
rant that  her  family  entertained  views  opposed  to  the 
pretensions  of  such  a  man  as  the  demagogue  and  Jew. 
Nevertheless  Alvan  could  persuade  him  to  abet  the  scheme 
for  his  meeting  Clotilde;  nay,  to  lead  to  it;  ultimately  to 
allow  his  own  house  to  be  their  place  of  meeting.  Alvan 
achieved  the  first  of  the  steps  unassisted.  Whether  or 
not  his  character  stood  well  with  a  man  of  the  world,  his 
force  of  character,  backed  by  solid  attain ments  in  addition 
to  brilliant  gifts,  could  win  a  reputable  citizen  and  erudite 
to  support  him.  Ehetoric  in  a  worthy  cause  has  good 
chances  of  carrying  the  gravest,  and  the  cause  might  rea- 
sonably seem  excellent  to  the  professor  when  one  promis- 
ing fair  to  be  the  political  genius  of  his  time,  but  hitherto 
not  the  quietest  of  livers,  could  make  him  believe  that 
marriage  with  this  girl  would  be  his  clear  salvation.  The 
second  step  was  undesignedly  Clotilde's. 

She  was  on  the  professor's  arm  at  one  of  the  great 
winter  balls  of  her  conductor's  brethren  in  the  law,  and  he 
said:  "Alvan  is  here."  She  answered:  "No,  he  has  not 
yet  come."  —  How  could  she  tell  that  he  was  not  present 
in  the  crowd? 

"Has  he  come  now?  "  said  the  professor. 

"No." 

And  no  Alvan  was  discernible. 

"Now? 

"Not  yet." 

The  professor  stared  about.     She  waited. 

*^ Now  he  has  come;  he  is  in  the  room  now,"  said 
Clotilde. 

Alvan  was  perceived.  He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
throng  surrounding  him  to  buzz  about  some  recent 
pamphlet. 

She  could  well  play  at  faith  in  his  magnetization  of  her, 
for  as  by  degrees  she  made  herself  more  nervously  appre- 
hensive by  thinking  of  him,  it  came  to  an  overclouding 
and  then  a  panic;  and  that  she  took  for  the  physical  sign 
of  his  presence,  and  by  that  time,  the  hour  being  late, 
Alvan  happened  to  have  arrived.  The  touch  of  his  hand, 
the  instant  naturalness  in  their  speaking  together  after  a 
long  separation,  as  if  there  had  not  been  an  interval,  con- 


THE  TEAGIC  COISIEDIANS  43 

firmed  her  notion  of  his  influence  on  her,  almost  to  the 
making  it  planetary.  And  a  glance  at  the  professor 
revealed  how  picturesque  it  was.  Alvan  and  he  murmured 
aside.  They  spoke  of  it.  What  wonder  that  Alvan, 
though  he  saw  Prince  Marko  whirl  her  in  the  dance,  and 
keep  her  to  the  measure  —  dancing  like  a  song  of  the  limbs 
in  his  desperate  poor  lover^s  little  flitting  eternity  of  the 
possession  of  her  —  should  say,  after  she  had  been  led  back 
to  her  friends:  "That  is  he,  then!  one  of  the  dragons 
guarding  my  apple  of  the  Hesperides,  whom  I  must  brush 
away." 

"He?"  replied  Clotilde,  sincerely  feeling  Marko  to  be 
of  as  fractional  a  weight  as  her  tone  declared  him.  "  Oh, 
he  is  my  mute,  harmless,  he  does  not  count  among  the 
dragons." 

But  there  had  been,  notwithstanding  the  high  presump- 
tion of  his  remark,  a  manful  thickness  of  voice  in  Alvan's 
"  That  is  he !  "  The  rivals  had  fastened  a  look  on  one 
another,  wary,  strong,  and  summary  as  the  wrestlers' 
first  grapple.     In  fire  of  gaze,  Marko  was  not  outdone. 

"He  does  not  count?  With  those  eyes  of  his?"  Alvan 
exclaimed.  He  knew  something  of  the  sex,  and  spied 
from  that  point  of  knowledge  into  the  character  of 
Clotilde;  not  too  venturesomely,  with  the  assistance  of 
rumour,  hazarding  the  suspicion  which  he  put  forth  as  a 
certainty,  and  made  sharply  bitter  to  himself  in  propor- 
tion to  the  belief  in  it  that  his  vehemence  engendered:  "I 
know  all  —  without  exception  —  all,  everything;  all!  I 
repeat.  But  what  of  it,  if  I  win  you?  as  I  shall  —  only 
aid  me  a  little." 

She  slightly  surprised  the  man  by  not  striving  to  attenu- 
ate the  import  of  the  big  and  surcharged  All:  but  her 
silence  bore  witness  to  his  penetrative  knowledge.  Dozens 
of  amorous  gentlemen,  lovers,  of  excellent  substance, 
have  before  now  prepared  this  peculiar  dose  for  them- 
selves —  the  dose  of  the  lady  silent  under  a  sort  of  pardon- 
ing grand  accusation;  and  they  have  had  to  drink  it,  and 
they  have  blinked  over  the  tonic  draught  with  such  power 
of  taking  a  bracing  as  their  constitutions  could  summon. 
At  no  moment  of  their  quaint  mutual  history  are  the 
§exes  to  be  seen  standing  more  acutely  divided.     Well 


44  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

may  the  lady  be  silent;  her  little  sins  are  magnified  to 
herself  to  the  proportion  of  the  greatness  of  heart  forgiv- 
ing her;  and  that,  with  his  mysterious  penetration  and  a 
throb  of  her  conscience,  holds  her  tongue-tied.  She  does 
not  imagine  the  effect  of  her  silence  upon  the  magnanimous 
wretch.  Some  of  these  lovers,  it  has  to  be  stated  in  sad- 
ness for  the  good  name  of  man,  have  not  preserved  an  atti- 
tude that  said  so  nobly,  "  Child,  thou  art  human  —  thou  art 
woman  !  "  They  have  undone  it  and  gone  to  pieces  with 
an  injured  lover's  babble  of  persecuting  inquiries  for  con- 
fessions. Some,  on  the  contrary,  retaining  the  attitude, 
have  been  unable  to  digest  the  tonic ;  they  did  not  prepare 
their  systems  as  they  did  their  dose,  possibly  thinking  the 
latter  a  supererogatory  heavy  thump  on  a  trifle,  the  which 
was  performed  by  them  artfully  for  a  means  of  swallowing 
and  getting  that  obnoxious  trifle  well  down.  These  are 
ever  after  love's  dyspeptics.  Very  few  indeed  continue 
at  heart  in  harmony  with  their  opening  note  to  the  silent 
fair,  because  in  truth  the  general  anticipation  is  of  her 
proclaiming,  if  not  angelical  innocence,  a  softly  reddened 
or  blush-rose  of  it,  where  the  little  guiltiness  lies  pathetic 
on  its  bed  of  white. 

Alvan's  robustness  of  temper,  as  a  conqueror  pleased  with 
his  capture,  could  inspirit  him  to  feel  as  he  said  it:  "I 
know  all;  what  matters  that  to  me?"  Even  her  silence, 
extending  the  "all"  beyond  limits,  as  it  did  to  the  over- 
knowing  man,  who  could  number  these  indicative  charac- 
teristics of  the  young  woman:  impulsive,  without  willy 
readily  able  to  lie :  her  silence  worked  no  discord  in  him. 
He  would  have  remarked,  that  he  was  not  looking  out  for 
a  saint,  but  rather  for  a  sprightly  comrade,  perfectly 
feminine,  thoroughly  mastered,  young,  graceful,  comely, 
and  a  lady  of  station.  Once  in  his  good  keeping,  her  lord 
would  answer  for  her.  And  this  was  a  manfully  generous 
view  of  the  situation.  It  belongs  to  the  robustness  of  the 
conqueror's  mood.  But  how  of  his  opinion  of  her  charac- 
ter in  the  fret  of  a  baffling,  a  repulse,  a  defeat?  Suppos- 
ing the  circumstances  not  to  have  helped  her  to  shine  as  a 
heroine,  while  he  was  reduced  to  appear  no  hero  to  him- 
self!  Wise  are  the  mothers  who  keep  vigilant  personal 
watch  over  their  girls,    were   it  only  to  guard  them  at 


THE  THAGIC  COMEDIANS  45 

present  from  the  gentleman's  condescending  generosity, 
until  he  has  become  something  more  than  robust  in  his 
ideas  of  the  sex  —  say,  for  lack  of  the  ringing  word, 
fraternal. 

Clotilde  never  knew,  and  Alvan  would  have  been  unable 
to  date,  the  origin  of  the  black  thing  flung  at  her  in  time 
to  come  —  when  the  man  was  frenzied,  doubtless,  but  it 
was  in  his  mind,  and  more  than  froth  of  madness. 

After  the  night  of  the  ball  they  met  beneath  the  sanc- 
tioning roof  of  the  amiable  professor;  and  on  one  occasion 
the  latter,  perhaps  waxing  anxious,  and  after  bringing 
about  the  introduction  of  Clotilde  to  the  sister  of  Alvan, 
pursued  his  prudent  measures  by  passing,  the  pair  through 
a  demi-ceremony  of  betrothal.  It  sprang  Clotilde  a  stride 
nearer  to  reality,  both  actually  and  in  feeling ;  and  she  began 
to  show  the  change  at  home.  A  rebuff  that  came  of  the 
coupling  of  her  name  with  Alvan' s  pushed  her  back  as  far 
below  the  surface  as  she  had  ever  been.  She  waited  for 
him  to  take  the  step  she  had  again  implored  him  not  yet 
to  take;  she  feared  that  he  would,  she  marvelled  at  his 
abstaining;  the  old  wheel  revolved,  as  it  ever  does  with 
creatures  that  wait  for  circumstances  to  bring  the  change 
they  cannot  work  for  themselves;  and  once  more  the  two 
fell  asunder.  She  had  thoughts  of  the  cloister.  Her 
venerable  relative  died  joining  her  hand  to  Prince  Marko's; 
she  was  induced  to  think  of  marriage.  An  illness  laid 
her  prostrate;  she  contemplated  the  peace  of  death. 

Shortly  before  she  fell  sick  the  prince  was  a  guest  of 
her  father's,  and  had  won  the  household  by  his  perfect 
amiability  as  an  associate.  The  grace  and  glow,  and  some 
of  the  imaginable  accomplishments  of  an  Indian  Bacchus 
were  native  to  him.  In  her  convalescence,  she  asked  her- 
self what  more  she  could  crave  than  the  worship  of  a 
godlike  youth,  whom  she  in  return  might  cherish,  strength- 
ening his  frail  health  with  happiness.  For  she  had  seen 
how  suffering  ate  him  up;  he  required  no  teaching  in  the 
Spartan  virtue  of  suffering,  wolf-gnawed,  silently.  But 
he  was  a  flower  in  sunshine  to  happiness,  and  he  looked 
to  her  for  it.  Why  should  she  withhold  from  him  a  thing 
so  easily  given?  The  convalescent  is  receptive  and  unde- 
siring,  or  but  very  faintly  desiring :  the  new  blood  coming 


46  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

into  the  frame  like  first  dawn  of  light  has  not  stirred  the 
old  passions ;  it  is  infant  nature,  with  a  tinge  of  superadded 
knowledge  that  is  not  cloud  across  it  and  lends  it  only  a 
tender  wistfulness. 

Her  physician  sentenced  her  to  the  Alps,  whither  a 
friend,  a  daughter  of  our  island,  whose  acquaintance  she 
had  made  in  Italy,  was  going,  and  at  an  invitation  Clotilda 
accompanied  her,  and  she  breathed  Alpine  air.  Marko 
sank  into  the  category  of  dreams  during  sickness.  There 
came  a  letter  from  the  professor  mentioning  that  Alvan 
was  on  one  of  the  kingly  Alpine  heights  in  view,  and  the 
new  blood  running  through  her  veins  became  a  torrent. 
He  there!     So  near!      Could  he  not  be  reached? 

He  had  a  saying :    Two  wishes  make  a  will. 

The  wishes  of  two  lovers,  he  meant.  A  prettier  sen- 
tence for  lovers,  and  one  more  intoxicating  to  them,  was 
never  devised.  It  chirrups  of  the  dear  silly  couple. 
Well,  this  was  her  wish.  Was  it  his?  Young  health  on 
the  flow  of  her  leaping  blood  cried  out  that  it  could  not  be 
other  than  Al van's  wish;  she  believed  in  his  wishing  it. 
Then  as  he  wished  and  she  wished,  she  had  the  will  imme- 
diately, and  it  was  all  the  more  her  own  for  being  his  as 
well.  She  hurried  her  friend  and  her  friend's  friends  on 
horseback  off  to  the  heights  where  the  wounded  eagle 
lodged  overlooking  mountain  and  lake.  The  professor 
reported  him  outwearied  with  excess  of  work.  Alvan 
lived  the  lives  of  three ;  the  sins  of  thirty  were  laid  to  his 
charge.  Do  you  judge  of  heroes  as  of  lesser  men?  Her 
reckless  defence  of  him,  half  spoken,  half  in  her  mind, 
helped  her  to  comprehend  his  dealings  with  her,  and  how 
it  was  that  he  stormed  her  and  consented  to  be  beaten. 
He  had  a  thousand  occupations,  an  ambition  out  of  the 
world  of  love,  chains  to  break,  temptations,  leanings  .  .  . 
tut,  tut!  She  had  not  lived  in  her  circle  of  society,  and 
listened  to  the  tales  of  his  friends  and  enemies,  and  been 
the  correspondent  of  flattering  and  flattered  men  of  learn- 
ing, without  understanding  how  a  man  like  Alvan  found 
diversions  when  forbidden  to  act  in  a  given  direction :  and 
now  that  her  healthful  new  blood  inspired  the  courage  to 
turn  two  wishes  to  a  will,  she  saw  both  herself  and  him 
rery  clearly,  enough  at  least  to  pardon  the  man  more  than 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  47 

she  did  herself.  She  had  perforce  of  her  radiant  new 
healthfulness  arrived  at  an  exact  understanding  of  him. 
Where  she  was  deluded  was  in  supposing  that  she  would 
no  longer  dread  his  impetuous  disposition  to  turn  rosy 
visions  into  facts.  But  she  had  the  revived  convalescent's 
ardour  to  embrace  things  positive  while  they  were  not  knock- 
ing at  the  door;  dreams  were  abhorrent  to  her,  tasteless 
and  innutritions;  she  cast  herself  on  the  flood,  relying  on 
his  towering  strength  and  mastery  of  men  and  events  to 
bring  her  to  some  safe  landing  —  the  dream  of  hearts 
athirst  for  facts. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Alvan  was  at  his  writing-table  doing  stout  gladiator's 
work  on  paper  in  a  chamber  of  one  of  the  gaunt  hotels  of 
the  heights,  which  are  Death's  Heads  there  in  Winter  and 
have  the  tongues  in  summer,  when  a  Swiss  lad  entered  with 
a  round  grin  to  tell  him  that  a  lady  on  horseback  below 
had  asked  for  him  —  Dr.  A  Ivan.  Who  could  the  lady  be? 
He  thought  of  too  many.  The  thought  of  Clotilde  was 
dismissed  in  its  dimness.  Issuing  and  beholding  her,  his 
face  became  illuminated  as  by  a  stroke  of  sunlight. 

"Clotilde!  by  all  the  holiest! '' 

She  smiled  demurely,  and  they  greeted. 

She  admired  the  look  of  rich  pleasure  shining  through 
surprise  in  him.  Her  heart  thanked  him  for  appearing  so 
handsome  before  her  friends. 

"I  was  writing,"  said  he.  "Guess  to  whom?  —  I  had 
just  finished  my  political  stuff,  and  fell  on  a  letter  to  the 
professor  and  another  for  an  immediate  introduction  to 
your  father." 

"True?" 

"The  truth,  as  you  shall  see.  So,  you  have  come,  you 
have  found  me!  This  time  if  I  let  you  slip,  may  I  be 
stamped  slack-fingered." 

"*  Two  wishes  make  a  will,'  you  say." 

He  answered  her  with  one  of  his  bursts  of  brightness. 

Her  having  sought  him,  he  read  for  the  frank  surrender 


48  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

which  he  was  ready  to  match  with  a  loyal  devotion  to  his 
captive.     Her  coming  cleared  everything. 

Clotilde  introduced  him  to  her  friends,  and  he  was 
enrolled  a  member  of  the  party.  His  appearance  was  that 
of  a  man  to  whom  the  sphinx  has  whispered.  They 
ascended  to  the  topmost  of  the  mountain  stages,  to  another 
caravanserai  of  tourists,  whence  the  singular  people  emerge 
in  morning  darkness  nightcapped  and  blanketed,  and 
behold  the  great  orb  of  day  at  his  birth  —  he  them. 

Walking  slowly  beside  Clotilde  on  the  mountain  way, 
Alvan  said :  "  Two  wishes  !  Mine  was  in  your  breast. 
You  wedded  yours  to  it.  At  last !  —  and  we  are  one.  Kot 
a  word  more  of  time  lost.  My  wish  is  almost  a  will  in 
itself  —  was  it  not?  —  and  has  been  wooing  yours  all  this 
while  !  —  till  the  sleeper  awakened,  the  well-spring  leapt 
up  from  the  earth;  and  our  two  wishes  united  dare  the 
world  to  divide  them.  What  can?  My  wish  was  your 
destiny,  yours  is  mine.  We  are  one."  He  poetized  on 
his  passion,  and  dramatized  it:  "Stood  you  at  the  altar, 
I  would  pluck  you  from  the  man  holding  your  hand  !  There 
is  no  escape  for  you.  Nay,  into  the  vaults,  were  you  to 
grow  pale  and  need  my  vital  warmth  —  down  to  the  vaults  ! 
Speak  —  or  no :  look  !  That  will  do.  You  hold  a  Titan 
in  your  eyes,  like  metal  in  the  furnace,  to  turn  him  to  any 
shape  you  please,  liquid  or  solid.  You  make  him  a  god: 
he  is  the  river  Alvan  or  the  rock  Alvan:  but  fixed  or  flow- 
ing, he  is  lord  of  you.  That  is  the  universal  penalty:  you 
must,  if  you  have  this  creative  soul,  be  the  slave  of  your 
creature :  if  you  raise  him  to  heaven,  you  must  be  his  ! 
Ay,  look!  I  know  the  eyes  !  They  can  melt  granite,  they 
can  freeze  fire.  Pierce  me,  sweet  eyes  !  And  now  flutter, 
for  there  is  that  in  me  to  make  them." 

"Consider!  "  Clotilde  flutteringly  entreated  him. 

"The  world?  you  dear  heaven  of  me  !  Looking  down  on 
me  does  not  compromise  you,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my 
devotions.  I  sat  in  gloom:  you  came:  I  saw  my  goddess 
and  worshipped.  The  world,  Lutece,  the  world  is  a 
variable  monster;  it  rends  the  weak  whether  sincere  or 
false;  but  those  who  weld  strength  with  sincerity  may 
practise  their  rites  of  religion  publicly,  and  it  fawns  to 
them,  and  bellows  to  imitate.     Kay,  I  say  that  strength  in 


THE   TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  49 

love  is  the  sole  sincerity,  and  the  world  knows  it,  snuffs 
it  in  the  air  about  us,  and  so  we  two  are  privileged. 
Politically  also  we  know  that  strength  is  the  one  reality: 
the  rest  is  shadow.  Behind  the  veil  of  our  human  con- 
ventions power  is  constant  as  ever,  and  to  perceive  the  fact 
is  to  have  the  divining  rod  —  to  walk  clear  of  shams.  He 
is  the  teacher  who  shows  where  power  exists:  he  is  the 
leader  who  wakens  and  forms  it.  Why  have  I  unfailingly 
succeeded?  —  I  never  doubted!  The  world  voluntarily 
opens  a  path  to  those  who  step  determinedly.  You  —  to 
your  honour?  —  I  won't  decide  —  but  you  have  the  longest 
in  my  experience  resisted.  I  have  a  Durandal  to  hew  the 
mountain  walls ;  I  have  a  voice  for  ears,  a  net  for  butter- 
flies, a  hook  for  fish,  and  desperation  to  plunge  into 
marshes :  but  the  feu  follet  will  not  be  caught.  One  must 
wait  —  wait  till  her  desire  to  have  a  soul  bids  her  come  to 
us.  She  has  come  !  A  soul  is  hers :  and  see  how,  in- 
stantly, the  old  monster,  the  world,  which  has  no  soul  — 
not  yet :  we  are  helping  it  to  get  one  —  becomes  a  shadow, 
powerless  to  stop  or  overawe.  For  I  do  give  you  a  soul, 
think  as  you  will  of  it.  I  give  you  strength  to  realize, 
courage  to  act.  It  is  the  soul  that  does  things  in  this  life 
—  the  rest  is  vapour.  How  do  we  distinguish  love?  —  as  we 
do  music:  by  the  pure  note  won  from  resolute  strings. 
The  tense  chord  is  music,  and  it  is  love.  This  higher 
and  higher  mountain  air,  with  you  beside  me,  sweeps  me 
like  a  harp." 

"  Oh  !  talk  on,  talk  on !  talk  ever  !  do  not  cease  talking 
to  me  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde. 

"You  feel  the  mountain  spirit?  '' 

"I  feel  that  you  reveal  it." 

"Tell  me  the  books  you  have  been  reading." 

"  Oh,  light  literature  —  poor  stuff." 

"When  we  two  read  together  you  will  not  say  that. 
Light  literature  is  the  garden  and  the  orchard,  the  foun- 
tain, the  rainbow,  the  far  view;  the  view  within  us  as  well 
as  without.  Our  blood  runs  through  it,  our  history  in  the 
quick.  The  Philistine  detests  it,  because  he  has  no  view, 
out  or  in.  The  dry  confess  they  are  cut  off  from  the  liv- 
ing tree,  peeled  and  sapless,  when  they  condemn  it.  The 
vulgar  demand  to  have  their  pleasures  in  their  own  like- 

4 


50  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

ness  —  and  let  them  swamp  their  troughs !  they  shall  not 
degrade  the  fame  of  noble  fiction.  We  are  the  choice 
public,  which  will  have  good  writing  for  light  reading. 
Poet,  novelist,  essayist,  dramatist,  shall  be  ranked  honour- 
able in  my  Eepublic.  I  am  neither,  but  a  man  of  law,  a 
student  of  the  sciences,  a  politician,  on  the  road  to  govern- 
ment and  statecraft :  and  yet  I  say  I  have  learnt  as  much 
from  light  literature  as  from  heavy  —  as  much,  that  is, 
from  the  pictures  of  our  human  blood  in  motion  as  from 
the  clever  assortment  of  our  forefatherly  heaps  of  bones. 
Shun  those  who  cry  out  against  fiction  and  have  no  taste 
for  elegant  writing.  For  to  have  no  sympathy  with  the 
playful  mind  is  not  to  have  a  mind:  it  is  a  test.  But 
name  the  books." 

She  named  one  or  two. 

"And  when  does  Dr.  Alvan  date  the  first  year  of  his 
Eepublic?  " 

"  Clotilde  !  "  he  turned  on  her. 

"My  good  sir?" 

"  These  worthy  good  people  who  are  with  you :  tell  me 
—  to-morrow  we  leave  them  !  " 

"Leave  them?" 

"You  with  me.  No  more  partings.  The  first  year,  the 
first  day  shall  be  dated  from  to-morrow.  You  and  I  pro- 
claim our  Eepublic  on  these  heights.  All  the  ceremonies 
to  follow.  We  will  have  a  reaping  of  them,  and  make  a 
sheaf  to  present  to  the  world  with  compliments.  To- 
morrow !  " 

"You  do  not  speak  seriously?" 

"  I  jest  as  little  as  the  Talmud.  Decide  at  once,  in  the 
happy  flush  of  this  moment." 

"I  cannot  listen  to  you,  dear  sir!  " 

"  But  your  heart  beats  !  " 

"I  am  not  mistress  of  it." 

"Call  me  master  of  it.     I  make  ready  for  to-morrow." 

"No!  no!  no!  A  thousand  times  no!  You  have  been 
reading  too  much  fiction  and  verse.  Properly  I  should 
spurn  you." 

"Will  you  fail  me,  ^laj  fete  follet,  ward  me  off  again?" 

"I  must  be  won  by  rules,  brave  knight!  " 

"Will  you  be  won?" 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  51 

"And  are  you  he  —  the  Alvan  who  would  not  be 
centaur?  " 

"I  am  he  who  chased  a  marsh-fire,  and  encountered  a 
retiarius,  and  the  meshes  are  on  my  head  and  arms.  I 
fancied  I  dealt  with  a  woman;  a  woman  needing  protec- 
tion! She  has  me  fast  —  I  am  netted,  centaur  or  man. 
That  is  between  us  two.  But  think  of  us  facing  the  world, 
aud  trust  me;  take  my  hand,  take  the  leap;  I  am  the  best 
fighter  in  that  fight.  Trust  it  to  me,  and  all  your  difficul- 
ties are  at  an  end.     To  fly  solves  the  problem." 

"Indeed,  indeed,  I  have  more  courage  than  I  had,"  said 
Clotilde. 

His  eyes  dilated,  steadied,  speculated,  weighed  her. 

"Put  it  to  proof  while  you  can  believe  in  it !  " 

"How  is  it  every  one  but  you  thinks  me  bold?"  she 
complained. 

"Because  I  carry  a  touchstone  that  brings  out  the  truth. 
I  am  your  reality:  all  others  are  phantoms.  You  can 
impose  on  them,  not  on  me.  Courage  for  one  inspired 
plunge  you  may  have,  and  it  will  be  your  salvation :  — 
southward,  over  to  Italy,  that  is  the  line  of  flight,  and  the 
subsequent  struggle  will  be  mine:  you  will  not  have  to 
face  it.  But  the  courage  for  daily  contention  at  home, 
standing  alone,  while  I  am  distant  and  maligned  —  can  you 
fancy  your  having  that?  No  !  be  wise  of  what  you  really 
are;  cast  the  die  for  love,  and  mount  away  to-morrow." 

"Then,"  said  Clotilde,  with  elvish  cunning,  "do  you 
doubt  your  ability  to  win  me  without  a  scandal?  " 

"Back  me,  and  I  win  you!"  he  replied  in  a  tone  of 
unwonted  humility:  a  sudden  droop. 

She  let  her  hand  fall.     He  grasped  it. 

"Gradations  appear  to  be  unknown  to  you,"  she  said. 

He  cried  out:  "Count  the  years  of  life,  span  them, 
think  of  the  work  to  be  done,  and  ask  yourself  whether  time 
and  strength  should  run  to  waste  in  retarding  the  inevi- 
table? Pottering  up  steps  that  can  be  taken  at  one  bound 
is  very  well  for  peasant  pilgrims  whose  shrine  is  their 
bourne,  and  their  kneecaps  the  footing  stumps.  But  for  us 
two  life  begins  up  there.  Onward,  and  everywhere  around, 
when  we  two  are  together,  is  our  shrine.  I  have  worked, 
and  wasted  life;  I  have  not  lived,  and  I  thirst  to  live." 


52  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

She  murmured,  in  a  fervour,  "  You  shall !  "  and  slipped 
behind  her  defences.  "To-morrow  morning  we  shall 
wander  about;  I  must  have  a  little  time;  all  to-morrow 
morning  we  can  discuss  plans." 

"You  know  you  command  me,"  said  he,  and  gazed  at 
her. 

She  was  really  a  child  compared  with  him  in  years,  and 
if  it  was  an  excuse  for  taking  her  destiny  into  his  hands, 
she  consenting,  it  was  also  a  reason  why  he  dared  not 
press  his  whole  weight  to  win  her  to  the   step. 

She  had  the  pride  of  the  secret  knowledge  of  her  com- 
mand of  this  giant  at  the  long  table  of  the  guests  at 
dinner,  where,  after  some  play  of  knife  and  fork  among 
notable  professors,  Prussian  officers,  lively  Frenchmen 
and  Italians,  and  the  usual  over-supply  of  touring  English 
of  both  sexes,  not  encouraging  to  conversation  in  their 
look  of  pallid  disgust  of  the  art,  Alvan  started  general 
topics  and  led  them.  The  lead  came  to  him  naturally, 
because  he  was  a  natural  speaker,  of  a  mind  both  stored 
and  effervescent;  and  he  was  genial,  interested  in  every 
growth  of  life.  She  did  not  wonder  at  his  popularity 
among  men  of  all  classes  and  sets,  or  that  he  should  be 
famed  for  charming  women.  Her  friend  was  enraptured 
with  him.  Friendly  questions  pressed  in  an  evening 
chatter  between  the  ladies,  and  Clotilde  fenced,  which  is 
half  a  confession. 

"But  are  you  not  engaged?"  said  the  blunt  English- 
woman. 

According  to  the  explanation,  Clotilde  was  hardly 
engaged.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  say  how  she  stood 
definitely.  She  had  obeyed  her  dying  relative  and  dearest 
on  earth  by  joining  her  hand  to  Prince  Marko's,  and  had 
pleased  her  parents  by  following  it  up  with  the  kindest 
attentions  to  the  prince.  It  had  been  done,  however,  for 
the  sake  of  peace;  and  chiefly  for  his  well-being.  She 
had  reserved  her  full  consent :  the  plighting  was  incom- 
plete. Prince  Marko  knew  that  there  was  another,  a 
magical  person,  a  genius  of  the  ring,  irresistible.  He  had 
been  warned,  that  should  the  other  come  forth  to  claim 
her.  .  .  .  And  she  was  about  to  write  to  him  this  very 
night  to  tell  him  .  .  .  tell  him  fully.  ...  In  truth,  she 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  68 

loved  both,  but  each  so  differently  !  And  both  loved  her ! 
And  she  had  to  make  her  choice  of  one,  and  tell  the  prince 
she  did  love  him,  but  .  .  .  Dots  are  the  best  of  symbols 
for  rendering  cardisophistical  subtleties  intelligible,  and 
as  they  are  much  used  in  dialogue,  one  should  have  now 
and  then  permission  to  print  them.  Especially  feminine 
dialogue  referring  to  matters  of  the  uncertain  heart  takes 
assistance  from  troops  of  dots;  and  not  to  understand 
them  at  least  as  well  as  words,  when  words  have  as  it 
were  conducted  us  to  the  brink  of  expression,  and  shown 
us  the  precipice,  is  to  be  dull,  bucolic  of  the  market- 
place. 

Sunless  rose  the  morning.  The  blanketed  figures  went 
out  to  salute  a  blanketed  sky.  Drizzling  they  returned, 
images  of  woefulness  in  various  forms,  including  laughter's. 
Alvan  frankly  declared  himself  the  disappointed  show- 
man; he  had  hoped  for  his  beloved  to  see  the  sight  long 
loved  by  him  of  golden  chariot  and  sun-steeds  crossing  the 
peaks  and  the  lakes;  and  his  disappointment  became  con- 
sternation on  hearing  Clotilde's  English  friend  (after 
objection  to  his  pagan  clothing  of  the  solemn  reality  of 
sunrise,  which  destroyed  or  minimized  by  too  materially 
defining  a  grandeur  that  derived  its  essence  from  mystery, 
she  thought)  announce  the  hour  for  her  departure.  He 
promised  her  a  positive  sunrise  if  she  would  delay.  Her 
child  lay  recovering  from  an  illness  in  the  town  below, 
and  she  could  not  stay.  But  Clotilde  had  coughed  in 
the  damp  morning  air,  and  it  would,  he  urged,  be  dan- 
gerous for  her  to  be  exposed  to  it.  Had  not  the  lady 
heard  her  cough?  She  had,  but  personally  she  was  obliged 
to  go;  with  her  child  lying  ill  she  could  not  remain. 
"But,  madam,  do  you  hear  that  cough  again?  Will  you 
drag  her  out  with  such  a  cough  as  that?"  The  lady 
repeated  "  My  child !  "  Clotilde  said  it  had  been  agreed 
they  should  descend  this  day;  her  friend  must  be  beside 
her  child.  Alvan  thundered  an  "  Impossible  !  "  The  child 
was  recovering;  Clotilde  was  running  into  danger:  he 
argued  with  the  senseless  woman,  opposing  reason  to  the 
feminine  sentiment  of  the  maternal,  and  of  course  he  was 
beaten.  He  was  compelled  to  sit  and  gnaw  his  eloquence, 
Clotilde    likened    his    appearance    to    a  strangled    roar. 


54  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

"Mothers  and  their  children  are  too  much  for  me!"  he 
said,  penitent  for  his  betrayal  of  over-urgency,  as  he 
helped  to  wrap  her  warmly,  and  counselled  her  very  mode 
of  breathing  in  the  raw  mountain  atmosphere. 

"I  admire  you  for  knowing  when  to  yield,"  said  she. 

He  groaned,  with  frown  and  laugh :  "  You  know  what  I 
would  beg !  " 

She  implored  him  to  have  some  faith  in  her. 

The  missiles  of  the  impassioned  were  discharged  at  the 
poor  English:  a  customary  volley  in  most  places  where 
they  intrude  after  quitting  their  shores,  if  they  diverge 
from  the  avenue  of  hotel-keepers  and  waiters :  but  Clotilde 
pointed  out  to  him  that  her  English  friend  was  not  show- 
ing coldness  in  devoting  herself  to  her  child. 

"No,  they  attend  to  their  duties,"  he  assented  generally, 
desperately  just. 

"And  you  owe  it  to  her  that  you  have  seen  me." 

"I  do,"  he  said,  and  forthwith  courted  the  lady  to  be 
forgiven. 

Clotilde  was  taken  from  him  in  a  heavy  down-pour  and 
trailing  of  mists. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  a  boy  handed  her  a  letter 
from  Alvan  —  a  burning  flood,  rolled  out  of  him  like  lava 
after  they  had  separated  on  the  second  plateau,  and  con- 
fided to  one  who  knew  how  to  outstrip  pathfarers.  She 
entered  her  hotel  across  the  lake,  and  met  a  telegram.  At 
night  the  wires  flashed  "Sleep  well"  to  her;  on  her  awak- 
ing, "Good  morning."  A  lengthened  history  of  the  day 
was  telegraphed  for  her  amusement.  Again  at  night 
there  was  a  "God  guard  you!" 

"  Who  can  resist  him?  "  sighed  Clotilde,  excited,  nervous, 
flattered,  happy,  but  yearning  to  repose  and  be  curtained 
from  the  buzz  of  the  excess  of  life  that  he  put  about 
her.  This  time  there  was  no  prospect  of  his  courtship 
relapsing. 

"He  is  a  wonderful,  an  ideal  lover!"  replied  her 
friend. 

"  If  he  were  only  that ! "  said  Clotilde,  musing  expres- 
sively. "If,  dear  Englishwoman,  he  were  only  that,  he 
might  be  withstood.  But  Alvan  mounts  high  over  such 
lovers :  he   is   a  wonderful   and   ideal  man :  so  great,  so 


a?HE  THAGIC   COMEDIANS  55 

generous,  heroical,  giant-like,  that  what  he  wills  must 
be." 

The  Englishwoman  was  quick  enough  to  seize  an  indica- 
tion difficult  to  miss  —  more  was  expected  to  be  said  of 
him. 

"You  see  the  perfect  gentleman  in  Dr.  Alvan,"  she 
remarked,  for  she  had  heard  him  ordering  his  morning 
bath  at  the  hotel,  and  he  had  also  been  polite  to  her  under 
vexation. 

Clotilde  nodded  hurriedly;  she  saw  something  infinitely- 
greater,  and  disliked  the  bringing  of  that  island  micro- 
scope to  bear  upon  a  giant.  She  found  it  repugnant  to 
hear  a  word  of  Alvan  as  a  perfect  gentleman.  Justly, 
however,  she  took  him  for  a  splendid  nature,  and  assum- 
ing upon  good  authority  that  the  greater  contains  the 
lesser,  she  supposed  the  lesser  to  be  a  chiselled  figure 
serviceably  alive  in  the  embrace. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


He  was  down  on  the  plains  to  her  the  second  day,  and  as 
usual  when  they  met,  it  was  as  if  they  had  not  parted ;  his 
animation  made  it  seem  so.  He  was  like  summer's  morn- 
ing sunlight,  his  warmth  striking  instantly  through  her 
blood  dispersed  any  hesitating  strangeness  that  sometimes 
gathers  during  absences,  caused  by  girlish  dread  of  a  step 
to  take,  or  shame  at  the  step  taken,  when  coldish  gentle- 
men rather  create  these  backflowings  and  gaps  in  the  feel- 
ings. She  had  grown  reconciled  to  the  perturbation  of 
his  messages,  and  would  have  preferred  to  have  him 
startling  and  thrilling  her  from  a  distance;  but  seeing 
him,  she  welcomed  him,  and  feeling  in  his  bright  presence 
not  the  faintest  chill  of  the  fit  of  shyness,  she  took  her 
bravery  of  heart  for  a  sign  that  she  had  reached  his  level, 
and  might  own  it  by  speaking  of  the  practical  measures  to 
lead  to  their  union.  On  one  subject  sure  to  be  raised 
against  him  by  her  parents,  she  had  a  right  to  be  inquisi- 
tive: the  baroness. 


56  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAKS 

She  asked  to  see  a  photograph  of  her. 

Alvan  gave  her  one  out  of  his  pocketbook,  and  watched 
her  eyelids  in  profile  as  she  perused  those  features  of  the 
budless  grey  woman.  The  eyelids  in  such  scrutinies  reveal 
the  critical  mind;  Clotilde's  drooped  till  they  almost 
closed  upon  their  lashes  —  deadly  criticism. 

"  Think  of  her  age,"  said  Alvan,  colouring.  He  named  a 
grandmaternal  date  for  the  year  of  the  baronesses  birth. 

Her  eyebrows  now  stood  up;  her  contemplation  of 
those  disenchanting  lineaments  came  to  an  abrupt  finish. 

She  returned  the  square  card  to  him,  slowly  shaking 
her  head,  still  eyeing  earth  as  her  hand  stretched  forth 
the  card  laterally.  He  could  not  contest  the  woeful 
verdict. 

"  Twenty  years  back  ! "  he  murmured,  writhing.  The 
baroness  was  a  woman  fair  to  see  in  the  days  twenty  years 
back,  though  Clotilde  might  think  it  incredible :  she  really 
was  once. 

Clotilde  resumed  her  doleful  shaking  of  the  head;  she 
sighed.  He  shrugged;  she  looked  at  him,  and  he  blinked 
a  little.  For  the  first  time  since  they  had  come  together 
she  had  a  clear  advantage ,  and  as  it  was  likely  to  be  a  rare 
occasion,  she  did  not  let  it  slip.  She  sighed  again.  He 
was  wounded  by  her  underestimate  of  his  ancient  conquest. 

"Yes  —  noiv,^^  he  said,  impatiently. 

"I  cannot  feel  jealousy,  I  cannot  feel  rivalry,"  said 
she,   sad  of  voice. 

The  humour  of  her  tranced  eyes  in  the  shaking  head 
provoked  him  to  defend  the  baroness  for  her  goodness  of 
heart,  her  energy  of  brain. 

Clotilde  *  tolled  '  her  naughty  head. 

"But  it  is  a  strong  face,"  she  said,  "a  strong  face  —  a 
strong  jaw,  by  Lavater  !  You  were  young  —  and  daringly 
adventurous;  she  was  captivating  in  her  distress.  Now 
she  is  old  —  and  you  are  friends." 

"Friends,  yes,"  Alvan  replied,  and  praised  the  girl,  as 
of  course  she  deserved  to  be  praised  for  her  open  mind. 

"We  are  friends!"  he  said,  dropping  a  deep-chested 
breath.  The  title  this  girl  scornfully  supplied  was  balm 
to  the  vanity  she  had  stung,  and  his  burnt  skin  was  too 
eager  for  a  covering  of  any  sort  to  examine  the  mood  of 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  67 

the  giver.  She  had  positively  humbled  him  so  far  as  with 
a  single  word  to  relieve  him;  for  he  had  seen  bristling 
chapters  in  her  look  at  the  photograph.  Yet  for  all  the 
natural  sensitiveness  of  the  man's  vanity,  he  did  not  seek 
to  bury  the  subject  at  the  cost  of  a  misconception  injurious 
in  the  slightest  degree  to  the  sentiments  he  entertained 
toward  the  older  lady  as  well  as  the  younger.  "  Friends  ! 
you  are  right;  good  friends;  only  you  should  know  that 
it  is  just  a  little  —  a  trifle  different.  The  fact  is,  I  cannot 
kill  the  past,  and  I  would  not.  It  would  try  me  sharply 
to  break  the  tie  connecting  us,  were  it  possible  to  break 
it.  I  am  bound  to  her  by  gratitude.  She  is  old  now;  and 
were  she  twice  that  age,  I  should  retain  my  feeling  for 
her.  You  raise  your  eyes,  Clotilde!  Well,  when  I  was 
much  younger  I  found  this  lady  in  desperate  ill-fortune, 
and  she  honoured  me  with  her  confidence.  Young  man 
though  I  was,  I  defended  her;  I  stopped  at  no  measure  to 
defend  her :  against  a  powerful  husband,  remember  —  the 
most  unscrupulous  of  foes,  who  sought  to  rob  her  of  every 
right  she  possessed.  And  what  I  did  then  I  again  would 
do.  I  was  vowed  to  her  interests,  to  protect  a  woman 
shamefully  wronged ;  I  did  not  stick  at  trifles,  as  you  know; 
you  have  read  my  speech  in  defence  of  myself  before  the 
court.  By  my  interpretation  of  the  case,  I  was  justified; 
but  I  estranged  my  family  and  made  the  world  my  enemy. 
I  gave  my  time  and  money,  besides  the  forfeit  of  reputa- 
tion, to  the  case,  and  reasonably  there  was  an  arrangement 
to  repay  me  out  of  the  estate  reserved  for  her,  so  that  the 
baroness  should  not  be  under  the  degradation  of  feeling 
herself  indebted.  You  will  not  think  that  out  of  the  way : 
men  of  the  world  do  not.  As  for  matters  of  the  heart 
between  us,  we  're  as  far  apart  as  the  Poles." 

He  spoke  hurriedly.  He  had  said  all  that  could  be 
expected  of  him. 

They  were  in  a  wood,  walking  through  lines  of  spruce 
firs  of  deep  golden  green  in  the  yellow  beams.  One  of 
these  trees  among  its  well-robed  fellows  fronting  them 
was  all  lichen-smitten.  From  the  low  sweeping  branches 
touching  earth  to  the  plumed  top,  the  tree  was  dead-black 
as  its  shadow;  a  vision  of  blackness. 

"I  will  compose  a  beautiful,  dutiful,  modest,  oddest, 


58  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

beseeching,  screeching,  mildish,  childish  epistle  to  her, 
and  you  shall  read  it,  and  if  you  approve  it,  we  shall 
despatch  it,"  said  Clotilde. 

"  There  speaks  my  gold-crested  serpent  at  her  wisest !  " 
replied  Alvan.  "And  now  for  my  visit  to  your  family: 
I  follow  you  in  a  day.  En  avant  !  contre  les  canons  !  A 
run  to  Lake  Leman  brings  us  to  them  in  the  afternoon.  I 
shall  see  you  in  the  evening.  So  our  separation  won't  be 
for  long  this  time.  All  the  auspices  are  good.  We  shall 
not  be  rich  — nor  poor." 

Clotilde  reminded  him  that  a  portion  of  money  would 
be  brought  to  the  store  by  her. 

"We  don't  count  it,"  said  he.  "Not  rich,  certainly. 
And  you  will  not  expect  me  to  make  money  by  my  pen. 
Above  all  things  I  detest  the  writing  for  money.  Fiction 
and  verse  appeal  to  a  besotted  public,  that  judges  of  the 
merit  of  the  work  by  the  standard  of  its  taste :  —  avaunt ! 
And  journalism  for  money  is  Egyptian  bondage.  No 
slavery  is  comparable  to  the  chains  of  hired  journalism. 
My  pen  is  my  fountain  —  the  key  of  me ;  and  I  give  my- 
self, I  do  not  sell.  I  write  when  I  have  matter  in  me  and 
in  the  direction  it  presses  for,  otherwise  not  one  word  !  " 

"I  would  never  ask  you  to  sell  yourself,"  said  Clotilde. 
"I  would  rather  be  in  want  of  common  comforts." 

He  squeezed  her  wrist.  They  were  again  in  front  of 
the  black-draped  blighted  tree.  It  was  the  sole  tree  of 
the  host  clad  thus  in  scurf  bearing  a  semblance  of  livid 
metal.  They  looked  at  it  as  having  seen  it  before,  and 
passed  on. 

"But  the  wife  of  Sigismund  Alvan  will  not  be  poor  in 
renown  !  "  he  resumed,  radiating  his  full  bloom  on  her. 

"My  highest  ambition  is  to  be  Sigismund  Alvan's 
wife  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

To  hear  her  was  as  good  as  wine,  and  his  heart  came  out 
on  a  genial  chuckle.  "Ay,  the  choice  you  have  made  is 
not,  by  heaven,  so  bad.  Sigismund  Alvan's  wife  shall 
take  the  foremost  place  of  all.  Look  at  me."  He  lifted 
his  head  to  the  highest  on  his  shoulders,  widening  his 
eagle  eyes.  He  was  now  thoroughly  restored  and  in  his 
own  upper  element,  expansive  after  the  humiliating  con- 
traction of  his  man's  vanity  under  the  glances  of  a  girl. 


THE   TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  59 

''Do  you  take  me  for  one  who  could  be  content  with  the 
part  of  second?  I  will  work  and  do  battle  unceasingly, 
but  I  will  have  too  the  prize  of  battle  to  clasp  it,  savour 
it  richly.  I  was  not  fashioned  to  be  the  lean  meek  martyr 
of  a  cause,  not  I.  I  carry  too  decisive  a  weight  in  the 
balance  to  victory.  I  have  a  taste  for  fruits,  my  fairest ! 
And  Republics,  my  bright  Lutetia,  can  give  you  splendid 
honours."  He  helped  her  to  realize  this  with  the  assuring 
splendour  of  his  eyes. 

" '  Bride  of  the  Elect  of  the  People  !  '  is  not  that  as 
glorious  a  title,  think  you,  as  queen  of  an  hereditary  sov- 
ereign mumbling  of  God's  grace  on  his  worm-eaten  throne? 
I  win  that  seat  by  service,  by  the  dedication  of  this  brain 
to  the  people's  interests.  They  have  been  ground  to  the 
dust,  and  I  lift  them,  as  I  did  a  persecuted  lady  in  my 
boyhood.  I  am  the  soldier  of  justice  against  the  army  of 
the  unjust.  But  I  claim  my  reward.  If  I  live  to  fight,  I 
live  also  to  enjoy.  I  will  have  my  station.  I  win  it  not 
only  because  I  serve,  but  because  also  I  have  seen,  have 
seen  ahead,  seen  where  all  is  dark,  read  the  unwritten  — 
because  I  am  soldier  and  prophet.  The  brain  of  man  is 
Jove's  eagle  and  his  lightning  on  earth  —  the  title  to 
majesty  henceforth.  Ah!  my  fairest;  entering  the  city 
beside  me,  and  the  people  shouting  around,  she  would 
not  think  her  choice  a  bad  one?  " 

Clotilde  made  sign  and  gave  some  earnest  on  his  arm  of 
ecstatic  hugging. 

"We  may  have  hard  battles,  grim  deceptions,  to  go 
through  before  that  day  comes,"  he  continued  after  a 
while.  "The  day  is  coming,  but  we  must  wait  for  it. 
work  on.  I  have  the  secret  of  how  to  head  the  people  — 
to  put  a  head  to  their  movement  and  make  it  irresistible, 
as  I  believe  it  will  be  beneficent.  I  set  them  moving  on 
the  lines  of  the  law  of  things.  I  am  no  empty  theorizer, 
no  phantasmal  speculator;  I  am  the  man  of  science  in 
politics.  When  my  system  is  grasped  by  the  people, 
there  is  but  a  step  to  the  realization  of  it.  One  step.  It 
will  be  taken  in  my  time,  or  acknowledged  later.  I  stand 
for  index  to  the  people  of  the  path  they  should  take  to 
triumph  —  must  take,  as  triumph  they  must  sooner  or 
later :  not  by  the  route  of  what  is  called  Progress  —  pooh  ! 


60  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

That  is  a  middle-class  invention  to  effect  a  compromise. 
With  the  people  the  matter  rests  —  with  their  intelligence ! 
meanwhile  my  star  is  bright  and  shines  reflected." 

"I  notice,"  she  said,  favouring  him  with  as  much  reflec- 
tion as  a  splendid  lover  could  crave  for,  "  that  you  never 
look  down,  you  never  look  on  the  ground,  but  always 
either  up  or  straight  before  you." 

"People  have  remarked  it,"  said  he,  smiling.  "Here 
we  are  at  this  funereal  tree  again.  All  roads  lead  to 
Rome,  and  ours  appears  to  conduct  us  perpetually  to  this 
tree.     It 's  the  only  dead  one  here." 

He  sighted  the  plumed  black  top  and  along  the  swelling 
branches  decorously  clothed  in  decay :  a  salted  ebon  moss 
when  seen  closely;  the  small  grey  particles  giving  a  sick 
shimmer  to  the  darkness  of  the  mass.  It  was  very  witch- 
like, of  a  witch  in  her  incantation-smoke. 

"  Not  a  single  bare  spot !  but  dead,  dead  as  any  peeled  and 
fallen!"  said  Alvan,  fingering  a  tuft  of  the  sooty  snake- 
lichen.  "  This  is  a  tree  for  a  melancholy  poet  —  eh,  Clotilde  ? 
—  for  him  to  come  on  it  by  moonlight,  after  a  scene  with  his 
mistress,  or  tales  of  her  !  By  the  way  and  by  the  way,  my 
fair  darling,  let  me  never  think  of  your  wearing  this  kind 
of  garb  for  me,  should  I  be  ordered  off  the  first  to  join  the 
dusky  army  below.  Women  who  put  on  their  dead  husbands 
in  public  are  not  well-mannered  women,  though  they  may 
be  excellent  professional  widows,  excellent !  " 

He  snapped  the  lichen-dust  from  his  fingers,  observing 
that  he  was  not  sure  the  contrast  of  the  flourishing  and 
blighted  was  not  more  impressive  in  sunlight:  and  then 
he  looked  from  the  tree  to  his  true  love's  hair.  The  tree 
at  a  little  distance  seemed  run  over  with  sunless  lizards: 
her  locks  were  golden  serpents. 

"  Shall  I  soon  see  your  baroness?  "  Clotilde  asked  him. 

"Not  in  advance  of  the  ceremony,"  he  answered.  "In 
good  time.  You  understand  —  an  old  friend  making  room 
for  a  new  one,  and  that  one  young  and  beautiful,  with 
golden  tresses;  at  first.  .  .  !  But  her  heart  is  quite 
sound.  Have  no  fear !  I  guarantee  it ;  I  know  her  to  the 
roots.  She  desires  my  welfare,  she  does  my  behests.  If 
I  am  bound  to  her  by  gratitude,  so,  and  in  a  greater 
degree,  is  she  to  me.     The  utmost  she  will  demand  is  that 


THE  TRAGIC   COIMEDIANS  61 

my  bride  shall  be  worthy  of  me  —  a  good  mate  for  me  in 
the  fight  to  come;  and  I  have  tested  my  bride  and  found 
her  half  my  heart;  therefore  she  passes  the  examination 
with  the  baroness." 

They  left  the  tree  behind  them. 

"We  will  take  good  care  not  to  return  this  way  again," 
said  Alvan,  without  looking  back.  "That  tree  belongs  to 
a  plantation  of  the  under  world;  its  fellows  grow  in  the 
wood  across  Acheron,  and  that  tree  has  looked  into  the 
ghastliness  of  the  flood  and  seen  itself.  Hecate  and 
Hermes  know  about  it.  Phoebus  cannot  light  it.  That 
tree  stands  for  Death  blooming.  We  think  it  sinister,  but 
down  there  it  is  a  homely  tree.  Down  there !  When  do 
we  go?  The  shudder  in  that  tree  is  the  air  exchanging 
between  Life  and  Death  —  the  ghosts  going  and  coming: 
it 's  on  the  border  line.  I  just  felt  the  creep.  I  think 
you  did.  The  reason  is  —  there  is  always  a  material  reason 
—  that  you  were  warm,  and  a  bit  of  chill  breeze  took  you 
as  you  gazed,  while  for  my  part  I  was  imaginiug  at  that 
very  moment  what  of  all  possible  causes  might  separate  us, 
and  I  acknowledged  that  death  could  do  the  trick.  But 
death,  my  love,   is  far  from  us  two !  " 

"Does  she  look  as  grimmish  as  she  does  in  the  photo- 
graph? "  said  Clotilde. 

"Who?  the  baroness?"  Alvan  laughed.  The  baroness 
was  not  so  easily  defended  from  a  girl  as  from  her  hus- 
band, it  appeared.  "  She  is  the  best  of  comrades,  best  of 
friends.  She  has  her  faults;  may  not  relish  the  writ 
announcing  her  final  deposition,  but  be  you  true  to  me, 
and  as  true  as  she  has  unfailingly  been  to  me,  she  will  be 
to  you.  That  I  can  promise.  My  poor  Lucie  !  She  is 
winter,  if  you  will.  It  is  not  the  winter  of  the  steppes; 
you  may  compare  her  to  winter  in  a  noble  country ;  a  fine 
landscape  of  winter.  The  outlines  of  her  face.  .  .  .  She 
has  a  great  brain.  How  much  I  owe  that  woman  for 
instruction  !  You  meet  now  and  then  men  who  have  the 
woman  in  them  without  beiug  womanized;  they  are  the 
pick  of  men.  And  the  choicest  women  are  those  who  yield 
not  a  feather  of  their  womanliness  for  some  amount  of 
manlike  strength.  And  she  is  one;  man's  brain,  woman's 
heart.     I  thought  her  unique  till  I  heard  of  you.     And 


62  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

how  do  I  stand  between  you  two?  She  has  the  only 
fault  you  can  charge  rae  with;  she  is  before  me  in  time, 
as  I  am  before  you.  Shall  I  spoil  you  as  she  spoilt  me? 
No,  no  !  Obedience  to  a  boy  is  the  recognition  of  the  heir- 
apparent,  and  I  respect  the  salique  law  as  much  as  I  love 
my  love.  I  do  not  offer  obedience  to  a  girl,  but  succour, 
support.  You  will  not  rule  me,  but  you  will  invigorate, 
and  if  you  are  petted,  you  shall  not  be  spoilt.  Do  not 
expect  me  to  show  like  that  undertakerly  tree  till  my 
years  are  one  hundred.  Even  then  it  will  be  dangerous  to 
repose  beneath  my  branches  in  the  belief  that  I  am  sap- 
less because  I  have  changed  colour.  We  Jews  have  a 
lusty  blood.  We  are  strong  of  the  earth.  We  serve  you, 
but  you  must  minister  to  us.  Sensual?  We  have  truly 
excellent  appetites.  And  why  not?  Heroical  too  !  Sol- 
diers, poets,  musicians;  the  Gentile's  masters  in  mental 
arithmetic  —  keenest  of  weapons :  surpassing  him  in  com- 
mon sense  and  capacity  for  brotherhood.  Ay,  and  in 
charity ;  or  what  stores  of  vengeance  should  we  not  have 
nourished !  Already  we  have  the  money-bags.  Soon  we 
shall  hold  the  chief  offices.  And  when  the  popular  elec- 
tion is  as  unimpeded  as  the  coursing  of  the  blood  in  a 
healthy  body,  the  Jew  shall  be  foremost  and  topmost,  for 
he  is  pre-eminently  by  comparison  the  brain  of  these  lat- 
terday  communities.  But  that  is  only  my  answer  to  the 
brutish  contempt  of  the  Jew.  I  am  no  champion  of  a 
race.     I  am  for  the  world,  for  man!" 

Clotilde  remarked  that  he  had  many  friends,  all  men 
of  eminence,  and  a  large  following  among  the  people. 

He  assented:  "Yes:  Tresten,  Retka,  Kehlen,  the 
Nizzian.  Yes,  if  I  were  other  than  for  legality :  —  if  it 
came  to  a  rising,  I  could  tell  off  able  lieutenants." 

"Tell  me  of  your  interview  with  Ironsides,"  she  said 
proudly  and  fondly. 

"Would  this  ambitious  little  head  know  everything?" 
said  Alvan,  putting  his  lips  among  the  locks.  "Well,  we 
met :  he  requested  it.  We  agreed  that  we  were  on  neutral 
ground  for  the  moment :  that  he  might  ultimately  have  to 
decapitate  me,  or  I  to  banish  him,  but  temporarily  we 
could  compare  our  plans  for  governing.  He  showed  me 
his  hand.     I  showed  him  mine.     We  played  open-handed, 


THE  TKAGIO  COMEDIANS  63 

like  two  at  whist.     He  did  not  doubt  my  honesty,  and  I 
astonished  him  by  taking  him  quite  in  earnest.     He  has 
dealt  with  diplomatists,  who  imagine  nothing  but  shuffling: 
the  old  Ironer  !     I  love  him  for  his  love  of  common  sense, 
his  contempt  of  mean  deceit.     He  will  outwit  you,  but  his 
dexterity  is  a  giant's  —  a  simple  evolution  rapidly  per- 
formed :  and  nothing  so  much  perplexes  pygmies  !     Then 
he  has  them,  bagsful  of  them  !     The  world  will  see;  and 
see  giant  meet  giant,  I  suspect.     He  and  I  proposed  each 
of  us  in  the  mildest  manner  contrary  schemes  —  schemes 
to   stiffen   the   hair  of  Europe !     Enough  that  we  parted 
with  mutual  respect.     He  is  a  fine  fellow :  and  so  was  my 
friend  the    Emperor    Tiberius,    and    so    was    Richelieu. 
Napoleon  was  a  fine  engine :  —  there  is  a  difference.     Yes, 
Ironsides  is  a  fine  fellow !  but  he  and  I  may  cross.     His 
ideas  are  not  many.     The  point  to  remember  is  that  he  is 
iron  on  them :  he  can  drive  them  hard  into  the  density  of 
the  globe.     He  has  quick  nerves  and  imagination :  he  can 
conjure  up,    penetrate,    and  traverse  complications —- an 
enemy's  plans,  all  that  the  enemy  will  be  able  to  combine, 
and  the  likeliest  that  he  will  do.     Good.     We  opine  that 
we  are  equal  to  the  same.     He  is  for  kingcraft  to  mask 
his  viziercraft  —  and  save  him   the  labour  of  patiently 
attempting  oratory  and  persuasion,  which  accomplishment 
he  does  not  possess :  —  it  is  not  in  iron.      We  think  the 
more  precious  metal  will  beat  him  when  the  broader  con- 
flict comes.     But  such  an  adversary  is  not  to  be  underrated. 
I  do  not  underrate  him :  and  certainly  not  he  me.      Had 
he  been  born  with  the  gifts  of  patience  and  a  fluent  tongue, 
and  not  a  petty  noble,  he  might  have  been  for  the  people, 
as  knowing  them  the  greater  power.     He  sees  that  their 
knowledge  of  their  power  must  eventually  come  to  them. 
In  the  meantime  his  party  is   forcible  enough  to   assure 
him  he  is  not  fighting  a  losing  game  at  present :  and  he 
is,  no  doubt,  by  lineage  and  his  traditions  monarchical. 
He  is  curiously  simple,  not  really  cynical.     His  apparent 
cynicism  is  sheer  irritability.     His  contemptuous  phrases 
are   directed   against   obstacles:  against   things,    persons, 
nations  that  oppose  him  or  cannot  serve  his  turn :  against 
his  king,  if  his  king  is  restive ;  but  he  respects  his  king : 
against  your  friends'  country,  because  there  is  no  fixing 


64  THE  TKAGIC  COMEDIANS 

it  to  a  line  of  policy,  and  it  seems  to  have  collapsed ;  but 
he  likes  that  country  the  best  in  Europe  after  his  own. 
He  is  nearest  to  contempt  in  his  treatment  of  his  dupes 
and  tools,  who  are  dropped  out  of  his  mind  when  he  has 
quite  squeezed  them  for  his  occasion;  to  be  taken  up 
again  when  they  are  of  use  to  him.  Hence  he  will  have  no 
following.  But  let  me  die  to-morrow,  the  party  I  have 
created  survives.  In  him  you  see  the  dam,  in  me  the 
stream.  Judge,  then,  which  of  them  gains  the  future ! 
—  admitting  that  in  the  present  he  may  beat  me.  He  is  a 
Prussian,  stoutly  defined  from  a  German,  and  yet  again  a 
German  stoutly  defined  from  our  borderers :  and  that  com- 
pletes him.  He  has  as  little  the  idea  of  humanity  as  the 
sword  of  our  Hermann,  the  cannon-ball  of  our  Frederick. 
Observe  him.  What  an  eye  he  has  !  I  watched  it  as  we 
were  talking:  —  and  he  has,  I  repeat,  imagination;  he  can 
project  his  mind  in  front  of  him  as  far  as  his  reasoning  on 
the  possible  allows :  and  that  eye  of  his  flashes ;  and  not 
fe)nly  flashes,  you  see  it  hurling  a  bolt;  it  gives  me  the 
picture  of  a  Balearic  slinger  about  to  whizz  the  stone:  for 
that  eye  looks  far,  and  is  hard,  and  is  dead  certain  of  its 
mark  —  within  his  practical  compass,  as  I  have  said.  I 
see  farther,  and  I , fancy  T  proved  to  hivi  that  I  am  not  a 
dreamer.  In  my  opinion,  when  we  cross  our  swords  I 
stand  a  fair  chance  of  not  being  worsted.  We  shall:  — 
you  shrink?  Figuratively,  my  darling  —  have  no  fear! 
Combative  as  we  may  be,  both  of  us,  we  are  now  grave 
seniors,  we  have  serious  business:  a  party  looks  to  him, 
my  party  looks  to  me.  Never  need  you  fear  that  I  shall 
be  at  sword  or  pistol  with  any  one.  I  will  challenge  my 
man,  whoever  he  is  that  needs  a  lesson,  to  touch  buttons 
on  a  waistcoat  with  the  button  on  a  foil,  or  drill  fives  and 
eights  in  cards  at  twenty  paces :  but  I  will  not  fight  him 
though  he  offend  me,  for  I  am  stronger  than  my  temper, 
and  as  I  do  not  want  to  take  his  nip  of  life,  and  judge  it 
to  be  of  less  value  than  mine,  the  imperilling  of  either  is 
an  absurdity." 

"Oh!  because  I  know  you  are  incapable  of  craven  fear," 
cried  Clotilde,  answering  aloud  the  question  within  her- 
self of  why  she  so  much  admired,  why  she  so  fondly  loved 
him.     To  feel  his  courage  backing  his  high  good  sense 


THE  TRAGIC   COIMEDIANS  65 

was  to  repose  in  security,  and  her  knowledge  that  an 
astute  self-control  was  behind  his  courage  assured  her  he 
was  invincible.  It  seemed  to  her,  therefore,  as  they 
walked  side  by  side,  and  she  saw  their  triumphant  pair 
of  figures  in  her  fancy,  natural  that  she  should  instantly 
take  the  step  to  prepare  her  for  becoming  his  Kepublican 
Princess.  She  walked  an  equal  with  the  great  of  the 
earth,  by  virtue  of  her  being  the  mate  of  the  greatest  of 
the  great;  she  trod  on  some,  and  she  thrilled  gratefully  to 
the  man  who  sustained  her  and  shielded  her  on  that  emi- 
nence. Elect  of  the  people  he  !  and  by  a  vaster  power 
than  kings  can  summon  through  the  trumpet !  She  could 
surely  pass  through  the  trial  with  her  parents  that  she 
might  step  to  the  place  beside  him  !  She  pressed  his  arm 
to  be  physically  a  sharer  of  his  glory.  Was  it  love?  It 
was  as  lofty  a  stretch  as  her  nature  could  strain  to. 

She  named  the  city  on  the  shores  of  the  great  Swiss 
lake  where  her  parents  were  residing;  she  bade  him  fol- 
low her  thither,  and  name  the  hotel  where  he  was  to  be 
found,  the  hour  when  he  was  to  arrive.  "  Am  I  not  pre- 
cise as  an  office  clerk?  "  she  said,  with  a  pleasant  taste  of 
the  reality  her  preciseness  pictured. 

"Practical  as  the  head  of  a  State  department,"  said  he, 
in  good  faith. 

"I  shall  not  keep  you  waiting,"  she  resumed. 

"  The  sooner  we  are  together  after  the  action  opens  the 
better  for  our  success,  my  golden  crest !  " 

"Have  no  misgiving,  Sigismund.  You  have  trans- 
formed me.  A  spark  of  you  is  in  my  blood.  Come.  I 
shall  send  word  to  your  hotel  when  you  are  to  appear. 
But  you  will  come,  you  will  be  there,  I  know.  I  know 
you  so  entirely." 

"As  a  rule,  Lutetia,  women  know  no  more  than  half  of 
a  man  even  when  they  have  married  him.  At  least  you 
ought  to  know  me.  You  know  that  if  I  were  to  exercise 
my  will  firmly  now  —  it  would  not  waver  if  I  called  it 
forth  —  I  could  carry  you  off  and  spare  you  the  flutter  you 
will  have  to  go  through  during  our  interlude  with  papa 
and  mama." 

"I  almost  wish  you  would,"  said  she.  She  looked  half 
imploringly,  biting  her  lip  to  correct  the  peeping  wish. 


66  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

Alvan  pressed  a  finger  on  one  of  her  dimples:  "Be 
brave.  Flight  and  defiance  are  our  last  resource.  Now 
that  I  see  you  resolved  I  shun  the  scandal,  and  we  will 
leave  it  to  them  to  insist  on  it,  if  it  must  be.  How  can 
you  be  less  than  resolved  after  I  have  poured  my  influence 
into  your  veins?  The  other  day  on  the  heights  —  had  you 
consented  then?  Well !  it  would  have  been  very  well, 
but  not  so  well.  We  two  have  a  future,  and  are  bound  to 
make  the  opening  chapters  good  sober  reading,  for  an 
example,  if  we  can.  I  take  you  from  your  father's  house, 
from  your  mother's  arms,  from  the  '  God  speed  '  of  your 
friends.  That  is  how  Alvan's  wife  should  be  presented  to 
the  world." 

Clotilde's  epistle  to  the  baroness  was  composed,  ap- 
proved, and  despatched.  To  a  frigid  eye  it  read  as  more 
hypocritical  than  it  really  was ;  for  supposing  it  had  to  be 
written,  the  language  of  the  natural  impulse  called  up  to 
write  it  was  necessarily  in  request,  and  that  language  is 
easily  overdone,  so  as  to  be  discordant  with  the  situation, 
while  it  is,  as  the  writer  feels,  a  fairly  true  and  well- 
formed  expression  of  the  pretty  impulse.  But  wiser  is  it 
always  that  the  star  in  the  ascendant  should  not  address 
the  one  waning.  Hardly  can  a  word  be  uttered  without 
grossly  wounding.  She  would  not  do  it  to  a  younger 
rival :  the  letter  strikes  on  the  recipient's  age  !  She  babbles 
of  a  friendship :  she  plays  at  childish  ninny  !  The  display 
of  her  ingenuous  happiness  causes  feminine  nature's  bosom 
to  rise  in  surges.  The  declarations  of  her  devotedness_  to 
the  man  waken  comparisons  with  a  deeper,  a  longer-tried 
suffering.  Actually  the  letter  of  the  rising  star  assumes 
personal  feeling  to  have  died  out  of  the  abandoned  lumi- 
nary, and  personal  feeling  is  chafed  to  its  acutest  edge  by 
the  perusal;  contempt  also  of  one  who  can  stupidly  simu- 
late such  innocence,  is  roused. 

Among  Alvan's  gifts  the  understanding  of  women  did 
not  rank  high.  He  was  too  robust,  he  had  been  too  suc- 
cessful. Your  very  successful  hero  regards  them  as  nine- 
pins destined  to  fall,  the  whole  tuneful  nine,  at  a  peculiar 
poetical  twist  of  the  bowler's  wrist,  one  knocking  down 
the  other  —  figuratively,  for  their  scruples,  or  for  their 
example  with  their  sisters.     His  tastes  had  led  him  into 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  67 

the  avenues  of  success,  and  as  he  had  not  encountered 
grand  resistances,  he  entertained  his  opinion  of  their  sex. 
The  particular  maxim  he  cherished  was,  to  stake  every- 
thing on  his  making  a  favourable  first  impression:  after 
which  single  figure,  he  said,  all  your  empty  naughts  count 
with  women  for  hundreds,  thousands,  millions:  noblest 
virtues  are  but  sickly  units.  He  would  have  stared  like 
any  Philistine  at  the  tale  of  their  capacity  to  advance  to 
a  likeness  unto  men  in  their  fight  with  the  world.  Women 
for  him  were  objects  to  be  chased,  the  politician's  relaxa- 
tion, taken  like  the  sportsman's  business,  with  keen  relish 
both  for  the  pursuit  and  the  prey,  and  a  view  of  the  termi- 
nation of  his  pastime.  Their  feelings  he  could  appreciate 
during  the  time  when  they  flew  and  fell,  perhaps  a  little 
longer;  but  the  change  in  his  own  feelings  withdrew  him 
from  the  communion  of  sentiment.  This  is  the  state  of 
men  who  frequent  the  avenues  of  success.  At  present  he 
was  thinking  of  a  wife,  and  he  approved  the  epistle  to  the 
baroness  cordially. 

"  I  do  think  it  a  nice  kind  of  letter,  and  quite  humble 
enough,"  said  Clotilde. 

He  agreed,  "Yes,  yes:  she  knows  already  that  this  is 
really  serious  with  me." 

So  much  for  the  baroness. 

Now  for  their  parting.  A  parting  that  is  no  worse  than 
the  turning  of  a  page  to  a  final  meeting  is  made  light  of, 
but  felt.  Eeason  is  all  in  our  favour,  and  yet  the  gods 
are  jealous  of  the  bliss  of  mortals;  the  slip  between  the 
cup  and  the  lip  is  emotionally  watched  for,  even  though 
it  be  not  apprehended,  when  the  cup  trembles  for  very 
fulness.  Clotilde  required  reassuring  and  comforting:  "I 
am  certain  you  will  prevail;  you  must;  you  cannot  be 
resisted;  I  stand  to  witness  to  the  fact,"  she  sighed  in  a 
languor:  "only,  my  people  are  hard  to  manage.  I  see 
more  clearly  now,  that  I  have  imposed  on  them ;  and  they 
have  given  away  by  a  sort  of  compact  so  long  as  I  did 
nothing  decisive.  That  I  see.  But,  then  again,  have  I 
not  your  spirit  in  me  now?  What  has  ever  resisted  you? 
—  Then,  as  I  am  Alvan's  wife,  I  share  his  heart  with  his 
fortunes,  and  I  do  not  really  dread  the  scenes  from  antici- 
pating failure,  still  —  the  truth  is,  I  fear  I  am  three  parts 


6S  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIAKS 

an  actress,  and  the  fourth  feels  itself  a  shivering  morsel 
to  face  reality.  No,  I  do  not  really  feel  it,  but  press  my 
hand,  I  shall  be  true  —  I  am  so  utterly  yours :  and  because 
I  have  such  faith  in  you.     You  never  yet  have  failed." 

"Never:  and  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  conceive  it," 
said  Alvan,  thoughtfully. 

His  last  word  to  her  on  her  departure  was  "  Courage  !  " 
Hers  to  him  was  conveyed  by  the  fondest  of  looks.  She 
had  previously  said  ''To-morrow  !  "  to  remind  him  of  his 
appointment  to  be  with  her  on  the  morrow,  and  herself 
that  she  would  not  long  stand  alone.  She  did  not  doubt 
of  her  courage  while  feasting  on  the  beauty  of  one  of  the 
acknowledged  strong  men  of  earth.  She  kissed  her  hand, 
she  flung  her  heart  to  him  from  the  waving  fingers. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


Alvan,  left  to  himself,  had  a  quiet  belief  in  the  subjugation 
of  his  tricksy  Clotilde,  and  the  inspiriting  he  had  given  her. 
All  the  rest  to  come  was  mere  business  matter  of  the  con- 
flict, scarcely  calling  for  a  plan  of  action.  Who  can  hold 
her  back  when  a  woman  is  decided  to  move  ?  Husbands 
have  tried  it  vainly,  and  parents ;  and  though  the  husband 
and  the  pareuts  are  not  dealing  with  the  same  kind  of 
woman,  you  see  the  same  elemental  power  in  her  under 
both  conditions  of  rebel  wife  and  rebel  daughter  to  break 
conventional  laws,  and  be  splendidly  irrational.  That  is,  if 
she  can  be  decided:  in  other  words,  aimed  at  a  mark  and 
inflamed  to  fly  the  barriers  intercepting.  He  fancied  he  had 
achieved  it.  Alvan  thanked  his  fortune  that  he  had  to  treat 
with  parents.  The  consolatory  sensation  of  a  pure  intent 
soothed  his  inherent  wildness,  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
possibility  that  the  latter  might  be  roused  by  those  people, 
her  parents,  to  upset  his  honourable  ambition  to  win  a 
wife  after  the  fashion  of  orderly  citizens.  It  would  be  on 
their  heads!  But  why  vision  mischance?  An  old  half- 
jesting  prophecy  of  his  among  his  friends,  that  he  would 
not  pass  his  fortieth  year,  rose  upon  his  recollection  with- 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  69 

out  casting  a  shadow.  Lo,  the  reckless  prophet  about  to 
marry  !  No  dark  bride,  no  skeleton,  no  colourless  thing,  no 
lichened  tree,  was  she.  Not  Death,  my  friends,  but  Life,  is 
the  bride  of  this  doomed  fortieth  year !  Was  animation 
ever  vivider  in  contrast  with  obstruction?  Her  hair  would, 
kindle  the  frosty  shades  to  a  throb  of  vitality  :  it  would  be 
sunshine  in  the  subterranean  sphere.  The  very  thinking  of 
her  dispersed  that  realm  of  the  poison  hue,  and  the  eter- 
nally inviting  phosphorescent,  still,  curved  forefinger,  which 
says,  "Come.'^ 

To  think  of  her  as  his  vernal  bride,  while  the  snowy 
Alps  were  a  celestial  garden  of  no  sunset  before  his  eyes, 
was  to  have  the  taste  of  mortal  life  in  the  highest.  He 
wondered  how  it  was  that  he  could  have  waited  so  long  for 
her  since  the  first  night  of  their  meeting,  and  he  just  dis- 
tinguished the  fact  that  he  lived  with  the  pulses  of  the 
minutes,  much  as  she  did,  only  more  fierily.  The  cease- 
less warfare  called  politics  must  have  been  the  distraction: 
he  forgot  any  other  of  another  kind.  He  was  a  bridegroom 
for  whom  the  rosed  Alps  rolled  out  a  panorama  of  illimit- 
able felicity.  And  there  were  certain  things  he  must  over- 
come before  he  could  name  his  bride  his  own,  so  that  his 
innate  love  of  contention,  which  had  been  constantly  flat- 
tered by  triumph,  brought  his  whole  nature  into  play  with 
the  prospect  of  the  morrow  :  not  much  liking  it  either. 
There  is  a  nerve  in  brave  warriors  that  does  not  like  the 
battle  before  the  crackle  of  musketry  is  heard,  and  the  big 
artillery. 

Methodically,  according  to  his  habit,  he  jotted  down  the 
hours  of  the  trains,  the  hotel  mentioned  by  Clotilde,  the 
address  of  her  father;  he  looked  to  his  card-case,  his  writ- 
ing materials,  his  notes  upon  Swiss  law,  considering  that 
the  scene  would  be  in  Switzerland,  and  he  was  a  lawyer 
bent  on  acting  within  and  up  to  the  measure  of  the  law  as 
well  as  pleading  eloquently.  The  desire  to  wing  a  telegram 
to  her  he  thought  it  wise  to  repress,  and  he  found  himself 
in  consequence  composing  verses,  turgid  enough,  even  to  his 
own  judgement.  Poets  would  have  failed  at  such  a  time, 
and  he  was  not  one,  but  an  orator  enamoured.  He  was  a 
wild  man,  cased  in  the  knowledge  of  jurisprudence,  and 
wishing  to  enter  the  ranks  of  the  soberly  blissful.    These 


70  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

he  could  imagine  that  he  complimented  by  the  wish.  Then 
why  should  he  doubt  of  his  fortune?     He  did  not. 

The  night  passed,  the  morning  came,  and  carried  him  on 
his  journey.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  alighted  at  the  hotel 
he  called  Clotilde's.  A  letter  was  handed  to  him.  His 
eyes  all  over  the  page  caught  the  note  of  it  for  her  begin- 
ning of  the  battle  and  despair  at  the  first  repulse.  "  And 
now  my  turn  1 "  said  he,  not  overjoyously.  The  words 
Jew  and  demagogue  and  baroness,  quoted  in  the  letter, 
were  old  missiles  hurling  again  at  him.  But  Clotilde's 
parents  were  yet  to  learn  that  this  Jew,  demagogue,  and 
champion  of  an  injured  lady,  was  a  gentleman  respectful  to 
their  legal  and  natural  claims  upon  their  child  while  main- 
taining his  own :  they  were  to  know  him  and  change  their 
tone. 

As  he  was  reading  the  letter  upstairs  by  sentences,  his 
door  opened  at  the  answer  to  a  tap.  He  started ;  his  face 
was  a  shield's  welcome  to  the  birdlike  applicant  for  admis- 
sion.    Clotilde  stood  hesitating. 

He  sent  the  introducing  waiter  speeding  on  his  most 
kellnerish  legs,  and  drew  her  in. 

"  Alvan,  I  have  come." 

She  was  like  a  bird  in  his  hands,  palpitating  to  extinction. 

He  bent  over  her :  "  What  has  happened?  " 

Trembling,  and  very  pale,  hard  in  her  throat  she  said, 
"The  worst." 

"You  have  spoken  to  them  both  subsequent  to  this?'' 
he  shook  the  letter. 

"  It  is  hopeless." 

"  Both  to  father  and  mother?  " 

"Both.  They  will  not  hear  your  name;  they  will  not 
hear  me  speak.  I  repeat,  it  is  past  all  hope,  all  chance  of 
moving  them.  They  hate  —  hate  you,  hate  me  for  thinking 
of  you.  I  had  no  choice;  I  wrote  at  once  and  followed 
my  letter ;  I  ran  through  the  streets ;  I  pant  for  want  of 
breath,  not  want  of  courage.  I  prove  I  have  it,  Alvan ;  I 
have  done  all  I  can  do." 

She  was  enfolded;  she  sank  on  the  nest,  dropping  her 
eyelids. 

But  he  said  nothing.  She  looked  up  at  him.  Her 
iT'^^ned  pale  eyes  provoked  a  closer  embrace. 


THE  TEAGTC  COMEDIANS  71 

"This  would  be  the  home  for  you  if  we  were  flying," 
said  he,  glancing  round  at  the  room,  with  a  sensation  like 
a  shudder.     "  Tell  me  what  there  is  to  be  told." 

"  Alvan,  I  have;  that  is  all.  They  will  not  listen j  they 
loathe Oh !  what  possesses  them !  " 

"  They  have  not  met  me  yet !  " 

"  They  will  not,  will  not  ever  —  no  ! " 

"  They  must." 

"  They  refuse.  Their  child,  for  daring  to  say  she  loves 
you,  is  detested.     Take  me  —  take  me  away  !  " 

"Run?  —  facing  the  enemy?"  His  countenance  was  the 
fiery  laugh  of  a  thirster  for  strife.  "They  have  to  be 
taught  the  stuff  Alvan  is  made  of !  " 

Clotilde  moaned  to  signify  she  was  sure  he  nursed  an 
illusion.  "I  found  them  celebrating  the  betrothal  of  my 
sister  Lotte  with  the  Austrian  Count  Walburg ;  I  thought 
it  favourable  for  us.  I  spoke  of  you  to  my  mother.  Oh, 
that  scene !  What  she  said  I  cannot  recollect :  it  was  a 
hiss.  Then  my  father.  Your  name  changed  his  features 
and  his  voice.  They  treated  me  as  impure  for  mentioning 
it.  You  must  have  deadly  enemies.  I  was  unable  to 
recognize  either  father  or  mother  —  they  have  become  trans- 
formed. But  you  see  I  am  here.  Courage  !  you  said ;  and 
I  determined  I  would  show  it,  and  be  worthy  of  you.  But 
I  am  pursued,  I  am  sure.  My  father  is  powerful  in  this 
place ;  we  shall  barely  have  time  to  escape." 

Alvan's  resolution  was  taken. 

"  Some  friend  —  a  lady  living  in  the  city  here  —  name  her, 
quick !  —  one  you  can  trust,"  he  said,  and  fondled  her  hastily, 
much  as  a  gentle  kind  of  drillmaster  straightens  a  fair 
pupil's  shoulders.  ^^  Yes,  you  have  shown  courage.  Now 
it  must  be  submission  to  me.  You  shall  be  no  runaway 
bride,  but  honoured  at  the  altar.  Out  of  this  hotel  is  the 
first  point.    You  know  some  such  lady  ?  " 

Clotilde  tried  to  remonstrate  and  to  suggest.  She  could 
have  prophesied  certain  evil  from  any  evasion  of  the  straight 
line  of  flight ;  she  was  so  sure  of  it  because  of  her  intuition 
that  her  courage  had  done  its  utmost  in  casting  her  on  him, 
and  that  the  remainder  within  her  would  be  a  drawing 
back.  She  could  not  get  the  word  or  even  the  look  to  en- 
counter his  close  and  warm  imperiousness  j  and,  hesitating, 


72  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

she  noticed  where  they  were  together  alone.  She  could 
not  refuse  the  protection  he  offered  in  a  person  of  her  own 
sex;  and  now,  flushing  with  the  thought  of  where  they 
were  together  alone,  feminine  modesty  shrivelled  at  the 
idea  of  entreating  a  man  to  bear  her  off,  though  feminine 
desperation  urged  to  it.  She  felt  herself  very  bare  of  cloth- 
ing, and  she  named  a  lady,  a  Madame  Emerly,  living  near 
the  hotel.     Her  heart  sank  like  a  stone. 

"  It  is  for  you !  "  cried  Alvan,  keenly  sensible  of  his 
loss  and  his  generosity  in  temporarily  resigning  her  for 
a  subsequent  triumph.  "  But  my  wife  shall  not  be  snatched 
by  a  thief  in  the  night.  Are  you  not  my  wife  —  my  golden 
bride  ?  And  you  may  give  me  this  pledge  of  it,  as  if  the 
vows  had  just  been  uttered  .  .  .  and  still  I  resign  you  till 
we  speak  the  vows.  It  shall  not  be  said  of  Alvan's  wife, 
in  the  days  of  her  glory,  that  she  ran  to  her  nuptials 
through  rat-passages." 

His  pride  in  his  prevailingness  thrilled  her.  She  was 
cooled  by  her  despondency  sufficiently  to  perceive  where 
the  centre  of  it  lay,  but  that  centre  of  self  was  magnifi- 
cent ;  she  recovered  some  of  her  enthusiasm,  thinking  him 
perhaps  to  be  acting  rightly ;  in  any  case  they  were  united, 
her  step  was  irrevocable.  Her  having  entered  the  hotel, 
her  being  in  this  room,  certified  to  that.  It  seemed  to  her 
while  she  was  waiting  for  the  carriage  he  had  ordered  that 
she  was  already  half  a  wife.  She  was  not  conscious  of  a 
blush.  The  sprite  in  the  young  woman's  mind  whispered 
of  fire  not  burning  when  one  is  in  the  heart  of  it.  And 
undoubtedly,  contemplated  from  the  outside,  this  room  was 
the  heart  of  fire.  An  impulse  to  fall  on  Alvan's  breast  and 
bless  him  for  his  chivalrousness  had  to  be  kept  under  lest 
she  should  wreck  the  thing  she  praised.  Otherwise  she 
was  not  ill  at  ease.  Alvan  summoned  his  gaiety,  all  his 
homeliness  of  tone,  to  give  her  composure,  and  on  her 
quitting  the  room  she  was  more  than  ever  bound  to  him, 
despite  her  gloomy  foreboding. 

A  maid  of  her  household,  a  middle-aged  woman,  gabbling 
of  devotion  to  her,  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  Her  tale 
was,  that  the  general  had  roused  the  city  in  pursuit  of  his 
daughter;  and  she  heard  whither  Clotilde  was  going. 

Within  half  an  hour,  Clotilde  was  in  Madame  Emerly 's 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  73 

drawing-room  relating  her  desperate  history  of  love  and 
parental  tyranny,  assisted  by  the  lover  whom  she  had  intro- 
duced. Her  hostess  promised  shelter  and  exhibited  sym- 
pathy. The  whole  Teutonic  portion  of  the  Continent  knew 
Alvan  by  reputation.  He  was  insurrectionally  notorious  in 
morals  and  menacingly  in  politics ;  but  his  fine  air,  hand- 
some face,  flowing  tongue,  and  the  signal  proof  of  his  re- 
spect for  the  lady  of  his  love  and  deference  toward  her 
family,  won  her  personally.  She  promised  the  best  help 
she  could  give  them.  They  were  certainly  in  a  romantic 
situation,  such  as  few  women  could  see  and  decline  their 
aid  to  the  lovers. 

Madame  Emerly  proved  at  least  her  sincerity  before  many 
minutes  had  passed. 

Chancing  to  look  out  into  the  street,  she  saw  Clotilde^s 
mother  and  her  betrothed  sister  stepping  up  to  the  house. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  And  was  the  visit  accidental  ?  She 
announced  it,  and  Clotilde  cried  out,  but  Alvan  cried  louder : 
"  Heaven-directed !  and  so,  let  me  see  her  and  speak  to 
her  —  nothing  could  be  better." 

Madame  Emerly  took  mute  counsel  of  Clotilde,  shaking 
her  own  head  premonitorily  ;  and  then  she  said:  "  I  think 
indeed  it  will  be  safer,  if  I  am  asked,  to  say  you  are  not 
here,  and  I  know  not  where  you  are.'' 

"Yes  !  yes! ''     Clotild-e  replied:  "Oh  !  do  that." 

She  half  turned  to  Alvan,  rigid  with  an  entreaty  that 
hung  on  his  coming  voice. 

"No!"  said  Alvan,  shocked  in  both  pride  and  vanity. 
•*  Plain-dealing  ;  no  subterfuge  !  Begin  with  foul  false- 
hood ?  No.  I  would  not  have  you  burdened,  madame, 
with  the  shadow  of  a  conventional  untruth  on  our  account. 
And  when  it  would  be  bad  policy  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  worse  than 
the  sin!  as  the  honest  cynic  says.  We  will  go  down  to 
Madame  von  Rtidiger,  and  she  shall  make  acquaintance 
with  the  man  who  claims  her  daughter's  hand." 

Clotilde  rocked  in  an  agony.  Her  friend  was  troubled. 
Both  ladies  knew  what  there  would  be  to  encounter  better 
than  he.  But  the  man,  strong  in  his  belief  in  himself, 
imposed  his  will  on  them. 

Alvan  and  Clotilde  clasped  hands  as  they  went  downstairs 
to  Madame  Emerly's  reception  room.  She  could  hardly 
ervp.ak  •  <'  Do  not  forsake  me." 


74  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAl^S 

"  Is  this  forsaking  ?  "  He  could  ask  it  in  the  deeply 
questioning  tone  which  supplies  the  answer. 

"  Oh,  Alvan  !  "     She  would  have  said  :  "  Be  warned.'* 

He  kissed  her  fingers.     "  Trust  to  me." 

She  had  to  wrap  her  shivering  spirit  in  a  blind  reliance 
and  utter  leaning  on  him. 

She  could  almost  have  said :  "  Know  me  better ; "  and 
she  would,  sincere  as  her  passion  in  its  shallow  vessel  was, 
have  been  moved  to  say  it  for  a  warning  while  yet  there  was 
time  to  leave  the  house  instead  of  turning  into  that  room, 
had  not  a  remainder  of  her  first  exaltation  (rapidly  degene- 
rating to  desperation)  inspired  her  with  the  thought  of  her 
being  a  part  of  this  handsome,  undaunted,  triumph-flashing 
man. 

Such  a  state  of  blind  reliance  and  utter  leaning,  however, 
has  a  certain  tendency  to  disintegrate  the  will,  and  by  so 
doing  it  prepares  the  spirit  to  be  a  melting  prize  of  the 
winner. 

Men  and  women  alike,  who  renounce  their  own  individ- 
uality by  cowering  thus  abjectly  under  some  other  before 
the  storm,  are  in  reality  abjuring  their  idea  of  that  other, 
and  offering  themselves  up  to  the  genius  of  Power  in  what- 
soever direction  it  may  chance  to  be  manifested,  in  whatso- 
ever person.  We  no  sooner  shut  our  eyes  than  we  consent 
to  be  prey,  we  lose  the  soul  of  election. 

Mark  her  as  she  proceeds.  For  should  her  hero  fail,  and 
she  be  suffering  through  his  failure  and  her  reliance  on 
him,  the  blindness  of  it  will  seem  to  her  to  have  been  an 
infinite  virtue,  anything  but  her  deplorable  weakness  crouch- 
ing beneath  his  show  of  superhuman  strength.  And  it  will 
seem  to  her,  so  long  as  her  sufferings  endure,  that  he  de- 
ceived her  just  expectations,  and  was  a  vain  pretender  to 
the  superhuman  :  —  for  it  was  only  a  superhuman  Jew  and 
democrat  whom  she  could  have  thought  of  espousing.  The 
pusillanimous  are  under  a  necessity  to  be  self-consoled  when 
they  are  not  self-justified :  it  is  their  instinctive  manner  of 
putting  themselves  in  the  right  to  themselves.  The  love 
she  bore  him,  because  it  was  the  love  his  high  conceit  ex- 
acted, hung  on  success  :  she  was  ready  to  fly  with  him 
and  love  him  faithfully:  but  not  without  some  reason 
(where  reason,  we  will  own,   should  not  quite  so  coldly 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  75 

obtrude)  will  it  seem  to  her,  that  the  man  who  would  not 
fly,  and  would  try  the  conflict,  insisted  to  stake  her  love 
on  the  issue  he  provoked.  He  roused  the  tempest,  he 
angered  the  Fates,  he  tossed  her  to  them;  and  reason, 
coldest  reason,  close  as  it  ever  is  to  the  craven's  heart  in 
its  hour  of  trial,  whispers  that  he  was  prompted  to  fling 
the  gambler's  die  by  the  swollen  conceit  in  his  fortune 
rather  than  by  his  desire  for  the  prize.  That  frigid  reason 
of  the  craven  has  red-hot  perceptions.  It  spies  the  spot  of 
truth.  Were  the  spot  revealed  in  the  man  the  whole  man, 
then,  so  unerring  is  the  eyeshot  at  him,  we  should  have 
only  to  transform  ourselves  into  cowards  fronting  a  crisis 
to  read  him  through  and  topple  over  the  Sphinx  of  life  by 
presenting  her  the  sum  of  her  most  mysterious  creature  in 
an  epigram.  But  there  was  as  much  more  in  Alvan  than 
any  faint-hearted  thing,  seeing  however  keenly,  could  see, 
as  there  is  more  in  the  world  than  the  epigrams  aimed  at 
it  contain. 

"Courage!"  said  he:  and  she  tremblingly:  <^Be  care- 
ful !  "  And  then  they  were  in  the  presence  of  her  mother 
and  sister. 

Her  sister  was  at  the  window,  hanging  her  head  low,  a 
poor  figure.  Her  mother  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  met  them  full  face,  with  a  woman's  combative  frown  of 
great  eyes,  in  which  the  stare  is  a  bolt. 

"  Away  with  that  man  !  I  will  not  suffer  him  near  me," 
she  cried. 

Alvan  advanced  to  her:  "Tell  me,  madame,  in  God's 
name,  what  you  have  against  me." 

She  swung  her  back  on  him.  "  Go,  sir  !  my  husband  will 
know  how  to  deal  with  one  like  you.  Out  of  my  sight,  I 
say  I " 

The  brutality  of  this  reception  of  Alvan  nerved  Clotilde. 
She  went  up  to  him,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  feel- 
ing herself  almost  his  equal,  said :  "  Let  us  go :  come.  I 
will  not  bear  to  hear  you  so  spoken  to.  No  one  shall  treat 
you  like  that  when  I  am  near." 

She  expected  him  to  give  up  the  hopeless  task,  after 
such  an  experience  of  the  commencement.  He  did  but 
clasp  her  hand,  assuring  the  Frau  von  Kiidiger  that  no 
word  of  hers  could  irritate  him.     "Nothing  can  make  me 


76  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

forget  that  you  are  Clotilde's  motlier.  You  are  the  mothei 
of  the  lady  T  love,  and  may  say  what  you  will  to  me, 
madame.     I  bear  it." 

"A  man  spotted  with  every  iniquity  the  world  abhors, 
and  I  am  to  see  him  holding  my  daughter  by  the  hand !  — 
it  is  too  abominable !  And  because  there  is  no  one  present 
to  chastise  him,  he  dares  to  address  me  and  talk  of  his  foul 
passion  for  my  daughter.  I  repeat :  that  which  you  have 
to  do  is  to  go.  My  ears  are  shut.  You  can  annoy,  you 
can  insult,  you  cannot  move  me.  Go."  She  stamped : 
her  aspect  spat. 

Alvan  bowed.  Under  perfect  self-command,  he  said : 
^'  I  will  go  at  once  to  Clotilde's  father.  I  may  hope,  that 
with  a  reasonable  man  I  shall  speedily  come  to  an  under- 
standing." 

She  retorted :  "  Enter  his  house,  and  he  will  have  you 
driven  out  by  his  lacqueys." 

"  Hardly  :  I  am  not  of  those  men  who  are  driven  from 
houses,"  Alvan  said,  smiling.  "But,  madame,  I  will  act 
on  your  warning,  and  spare  her  father,  for  all  sakes,  the 
attempt;  seeing  he  does  not  yet  know  whom  he  deals 
with.     I  will  write  to  him." 

"  Letters  from  you  will  be  flung  back  unopened." 

"  It  may,  of  course,  be  possible  to  destroy  even  my 
patience,  madame." 

"  Mine,  sir,  is  at  an  end." 

"  You  reduce  us  to  rely  on  ourselves ;  it  is  the  sole 
alternative." 

"You  have  not  waited  for  that,"  rejoined  Frau  von 
Riidiger.  "You  have  already  destroyed  my  daughter's 
reputation  by  inducing  her  to  leave  her  father's  house  and 
hesitate  to  return.  Oh !  you  are  known.  You  are  known 
for  your  dealings  with  women  as  well  as  men.  We  know 
you.  We  have,  we  pray  to  God,  little  more  to  learn  of 
you.     You  !  ah  —  thief  ! " 

"  Thief  !  "     Alvan's  voice  rose  on  hers  like  the  clapping 
echo  of  it.     She  had  up  the  whole  angry  pride  of  the  mat 
in  arms,  and  could  discern  that  she  had  struck  the  woun7 
in  his  history  ;  but  he  was  terrible  to  look  at,  so  ^he  mai' 
the  charge  supportable  by  saying : 

"You  have  stolen  my  child  from  me !  " 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  77 

Clotilde  raised  her  throat,  shrewish  in  excitement. 
"False!  He  did  not.  I  went  to  him  of  my  own  will,  to 
run  from  your  heartlessness,  mother  —  that  I  call  mother  ! 
—  and  be  out  of  hearing  of  my  father's  curses  and  threats. 
Yes,  to  him  I  fled,  feeling  that  I  belonged  more  to  him 
than  to  you.  And  never  will  I  return  to  you.  You  have 
killed  my  love ;  I  am  this  man's  own  because  I  love  him 
only ;  him  ever !  him  you  abuse,  as  his  partner  in  life  for 
all  it  may  give  !  —  as  his  wife  !  Trample  on  him,  you 
trample  on  me.  Make  black  brows  at  your  child  for 
choosing  the  man,  of  all  men  alive,  to  worship  and  follow 
through  the  world.     I  do.     I  am  his.     I  glory  in  him.'' 

Her  gaze  on  Alvan  said:  "Now!  "  Was  she  not  worthy 
of  him  now?  And  would  they  not  go  forth  together  now  t 
Oh !  now ! 

Her  gaze  was  met  by  nothing  like  the  brilliant  counter- 
part she  merited.  It  was  as  if  she  had  offered  her  beauty 
to  a  glass,  and  found  a  reflection  in  dull  metal.  He  smiled 
calmly  from  her  to  her  mother.  He  said:  "You  accuse 
me  of  stealing  your  child,  madame.  You  shall  acknowledge 
that  you  have  wronged  me.  Clotilde,  my  Clotilde !  may  I 
count  on  you  to  do  all  and  everything  for  me  ?  Is  there 
any  sacrifice  I  could  ask  that  would  be  too  hard  for  you  ? 
Will  you  at  one  sign  from  me  go  or  do  as  I  request 
you  ?  " 

She  replied,  in  an  anguish  over  the  chilling  riddle  of 
his  calmness  :  "  I  will,"  but  sprang  out  of  that  obedient 
consent,  fearful  of  over-acting  her  part  of  slave  to  him 
before  her  mother,  in  a  ghastly  apprehension  of  the  part 
he  was  for  playing  to  the  same  audience.  "  Yes,  I  will  do  all, 
all  that  you  command.  I  am  yours.  I  will  go  with  you. 
Bid  me  do  whatever  you  can  think  of,  all  except  bid  me 
go  back  to  the  people  I  have  hitherto  called  mine: — not 
that!" 

"  And  that  is  what  I  have  to  request  of  you,"  said  he, 
with  his  calm  smile  brightening  and  growing  more  foreign, 
histrionic,  unreadable  to  her.  "  And  this  greatest  sacrifice 
that  you  can  perform  for  me,  are  you  prepared  to  do  it? 
Will  you?" 

She  tried  to  decipher  the  mask  he  wore  :  it  was  proof 
against  her  imploring  eyes.     "If  you  can  ask  me  —  if  you 


78  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

can  positively  wish  it  —  yes,"  she  said.  "But  think  of 
what  you  are  doing.  Oh !  Alvan,  not  back  to  them ! 
Think ! '' 

He  smiled  insufferably.  He  was  bent  on  winning  a 
parent-blest  bride,  an  unimpeachable  wife,  a  lady  handed 
to  him  instead  of  taken,  one  of  the  world's  polished  silver 
vessels. 

"  Think  that  you  are  doing  this  for  me  !  "  said  he.  "  It 
is  for  my  sake.  And  now,  madame,  I  give  you  back  your 
daughter.  You  see  she  is  mine  to  give,  she  obeys  me,  and 
I  —  though  it  can  be  only  for  a  short  time  —  give  her  back 
to  you.  She  goes  with  you  purely  because  it  is  my  wish  : 
do  not  forget  that.  And  so,  madame,  I  have  the  honour," 
he  bowed  profoundly. 

He  turned  to  Clotilda  and  drew  her  within  his  arm, 
*'What  you  have  done  in  obedience  to  my  wish,  my  be- 
loved, shall  never  be  forgotten.  Never  can  I  sufficiently 
thank  you.  I  know  how  much  it  has  cost  you.  But  here 
is  the  end  of  your  trials.  All  the  rest  is  now  my  task. 
Eely  on  me  with  your  whole  heart.  Let  them  not  misuse 
you :  otherwise  do  their  bidding.  Be  sure  of  my  knowing 
how  you  are  treated,  and  at  the  slightest  act  of  injustice  I 
shall  be  beside  you  to  take  you  to  myself.  Be  sure  of  that, 
and  be  not  unhappy.  They  shall  not  keep  you  from  me 
for  long.  Submit  a  short  while  to  the  will  of  your  parents : 
mine  you  will  find  the  stronger.  Eesolve  it  in  your  soul 
that  I,  your  lover,  cannot  fail,  for  it  is  impossible  to  me 
to  waver.  Consider  me  as  the  one  fixed  light  in  your 
world,  and  look  to  me.  Soon,  then!  Have  patience,  be 
true,  and  we  are  one ! " 

He  kissed  cold  lips,  he  squeezed  an  inanimate  hand. 
The  horribly  empty  sublimity  of  his  behaviour  appeared 
to  her  in  her  mother's  contemptuous  face. 

His  eyes  were  on  her  as  he  released  her  and  she  stood 
alone.  She  seemed  a  dead  thing;  but  the  sense  of  his 
having  done  gloriously  in  mastering  himself  to  give  these 
worldly  people  of  hers  a  lesson  and  proof  that  he  could 
within  due  measure  bow  to  their  laws  and  customs,  dis- 
pelled the  brief  vision  of  her  unfitness  to  be  left.^  The 
compressed  energy  of  the  man  under  his  conscious  display 
of  a  great-minded  deference  to  the  claims  of  family  ties 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  79 

and  duties,  intoxicated  him.  He  thought  but  of  the  pressent 
achievement  and  its  just  effect :  he  had  cancelled  a  bad 
reputation  among  these  people,  from  whom  he  was  about 
to  lead  forth  a  daughter  for  Alvan's  wife,  and  he  reasoned 
by  the  grandeur  of  his  exhibition  of  generosity  —  which 
was  brought  out  in  strong  relief  when  he  delivered  his 
retiring  bow  to  the  Frau  von  Etidiger's  shoulder  —  that  the 
worst  was  over  ;  he  had  to  deal  no  more  with  silly  women : 
now  for  Clotilde's  father !  Women  were  privileged  to 
oppose  their  senselessness  to  the  divine  fire:  men  could 
not  retreat  behind  such  defences  ;  they  must  meet  him  on 
the  common  ground  of  men,  where  this  constant  battler 
had  never  yet  encountered  a  reverse. 

Clotilde's  cold  staring  gaze,  a  little  livelier  to  wonder- 
ment than  to  refl.ection,  observed  him  to  be  scrupulous 
of  the  formalities  in  the  diverse  character  of  his  parting 
salutations  to  her  mother,  her  sister,  and  the  lady  of  the 
house.  He  was  going  —  he  could  actually  go  and  leave 
her  !  She  stretched  herself  to  him  faintly ;  she  let  it  be 
seen  that  she  did  so  as  much  as  she  had  force  to  make  it 
visible.  She  saw  him  smiling  incomprehensibly,  like  a 
winner  of  the  field  to  be  left  to  the  enemy.  She  could 
get  nothing  from  him  but  that  insensible  round  smile,  and 
she  took  the  ebbing  of  her  poor  effort  for  his  rebuff. 

"You  that  offered  yourself  in  flight  to  him  who  once 
proposed  it,  he  had  the  choice  of  you  and  he  abjured  you. 
He  has  cast  you  off !  '^ 

She  phrased  it  in  speech  to  herself.  It  was  incredible, 
but  it  was  clear :  he  had  gone. 

The  room  was  vacant;  the  room  was  black  and  silent  as 
a  dungeon. 

"  He  will  not  have  you :  he  has  handed  you  back  to  them 
the  more  readily  to  renounce  you." 

She  framed  the  words  half  aloud  in  a  moan  as  she  glanced 
at  her  mother  heaving  in  stern  triumph,  her  sister  drooping, 
Madame  Emerly  standing  at  the  window. 

The  craven's  first  instinct  for  safety,  quick  as  the  cavern 
lynx  for  light,  set  her  on  the  idea  that  she  was  abandoned : 
it  whispered  of  quietness  if  she  submitted. 

And  thus  she  reasoned :  Had  Alvan  taken  her,  she  would 
not  have  been  guilty  of  more  than  a  common  piece  of  love- 


80  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

desperation  in  running  to  Mm,  the  which  may  be  love's  glory 
when  marriage  crowns  it.  By  his  rejecting  her  and  leaving 
her,  he  rendered  her  not  only  a  runaway,  but  a  castaway. 
It  was  not  natural  that  he  should  leave  her ;  not  natural  in 
him  to  act  his  recent  part;  but  he  had  done  it;  consequently 
she  was  at  the  mercy  of  those  who  might  pick  her  up.  She 
was,  in  her  humiliation  and  dread,  all  of  the  moment,  she 
could  see  to  no  distance ;  and  judging  of  him,  feeling  for 
herself,  within  that  contracted  circle  of  sensation  —  sure, 
from  her  knowledge  of  her  cowardice,  that  he  had  done 
unwisely  —  she  became  swayed  about  like  a  castaway  in 
soul,  until  her  distinguishing  of  his  mad  recklessness  in 
the  challenge  of  a  power  greater  than  his  own  grew  present 
with  her  as  his  personal  cruelty  to  the  woman  who  had 
flung  off  everything,  flung  herself  on  the  tempestuous  deeps, 
on  his  behalf.  And  here  she  was,  left  to  float  or  founder  ! 
Alvan  had  gone.  The  man  rageing  over  the  room,  abusing 
her  "infamous  lover,  the  dirty  Jew,  the  notorious  thief, 
scoundrel,  gallowsbird,"  etc.,  etc.,  frightful  epithets,  not  to 
be  transcribed  —  was  her  father.  He  had  come,  she  knew 
not  how.     Alvan  had  tossed  her  to  him. 

Abuse  of  a  lover  is  ordinarily  retorted  on  in  the  lady's 
heart  by  the  brighter  perception  of  his  merits ;  but  when 
the  heart  is  weak,  the  creature  suffering  shame,  her  lover 
the  cause  of  it,  and  seeming  cruel,  she  is  likely  to  lose  ^  all 
perception  and  bend  like  a  flower  pelted.  Her  cry  to  him  : 
"  If  you  had  been  wiser,  this  would  not  have  been ! "  will 
sink  to  the  inward  meditation  :  "  If  he  had  been  truer ! "  — 
and  though  she  does  not  necessarily  think  him  untrue  for 
charging  him  with  it,  there  is  already  a  loosening  of  the 
bonds  where  the  accusation  has  begun.  They  are  not 
broken  because  they  are  loosened:  still  the  loosening  of 
them  makes  it  possible  to  cut  them  with  less  of  a  snap  and 
less  pain. 

Alvan  had  relinquished  her  he  loved  to  brave  the  tempest 
in  a  frail  small  boat,  and  he  certainly  could  not  have  appre- 
hended the  furious  outbreak  she  was  exposed  to.  She 
might  so  far  have  exonerated  him  had  she  been  able  to 
reflect ;  but  she  whom  he  had  forced  to  depend  on  him  in 
blind  reliance,  now  opened  her  eyes  on  an  opposite  power 
exercising  material  rigours.     After  having  enjoyed  extraor- 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  81 

dinary  independence  for  a  young  woman,  she  was  treated  as 
a  refractory  child,  literally  marched  through  the  streets  in 
the  custody  of  her  father,  who  clutched  her  by  the  hair  — 
Alvan's  beloved  golden  locks  !  —  and  held  her  under  terror 
of  a  huge  forester's  weapon,  that  he  had  seized  at  the  first 
tidings  of  his  daughter's  flight  to  the  Jew.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  grim  indifference  to  exposure;  contempt,  with  a 
sense  of  the  humour  of  it :  and  this  was  a  satisfaction  to 
him,  founded  on  his  practical  observance  of  two  or  three 
maxims  quite  equal  to  the  fullest  knowledge  of  women  for 
rightly  managing  them:  preferable,  inasmuch  as  they  are 
simpler,  and,  by  merely  cracking  a  whip,  bring  her  back  to 
the  post,  instead  of  wasting  time  by  hunting  her  as  she 
likes  to  run.  Police  were  round  his  house.  The  General 
chattered  and  shouted  of  the  desperate  lawlessness  and 
larcenies  of  that  Jew  —  the  things  that  Jew  would  attempt. 
He  dragged  her  indoors,  muttering  of  his  policy  in  treating 
her  at  last  to  a  wholesome  despotism.  This  was  the  medicine 
for  her  —  he  knew  her  !  Whether  he  did  or  not,  he  knew 
the  potency  of  his  physic.  He  knew  that  osiers  can  be  made 
to  bend.  With  a  frightful  noise  of  hammering,  he  himself 
nailed  up  the  window-shutters  of  the  room  she  was  locked 
in  hard  and  fast,  and  he  left  her  there  and  roared  across 
the  household  that  any  one  holding  communication  with 
the  prisoner  should  be  shot  like  a  dog.  This  was  a  mani- 
festation of  power  in  a  form  more  convincing  than  the 
orator's. 

She  was  friendless,  abused,  degraded,  benighted  in  broad 
daylight ;  abandoned  by  her  lover.  She  sank  on  the^  floor 
of  the  room,  conceiving  with  much  strangeness  of  sentiment 
under  these  hard  stripes  of  misfortune,  that  reality  had 
come.  The  monster  had  hold  of  her.  She  was  isolated, 
fed  like  a  dungeoned  captive.  She  had  nothing  but  our 
natural  obstinacy  to  hug,  or  seem  to  do  so  when  weariful- 
ness  reduced  her  to  cling  to  the  semblance  of  it  only.  "  I 
marry  Alvan ! "  was  her  iterated  answer  to  her  father,  on 
his  visits  to  see  whether  he  had  yet  broken  her ;  and  she 
spoke  with  the  desperate  firmness  of  weak  creatures  that 
strive  to  nail  themselves  to  the  sound  of  it.  He  listened 
and  named  his  time  for  returning.  The  tug  between  rigour 
and  endurance  continued  for  about  forty  hours.     She  theu 

6 


82  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

thought,  in  an  exhaustion :  "  Strange  that  my  father  should 
be  so  fiercely  excited  against  this  man  !  Can  he  have  reasons 
I  have  not  heard  of  ?  "  Her  father's  unwonted  harshness 
suggested  the  question  in  her  quailing  nature,  which  was 
beginning  to  have  a  movement  to  kiss  the  whip.  The 
question  set  her  thinking  of  the  reasons  she  knew.  She 
saw  them  involuntarily  from  the  side  of  parents,  and  they 
wore  a  sinister  appearance  ;  in  reality  her  present  scourging 
was  due  to  them  as  well  as  to  Alvan's  fatal  decision.  Her 
misery  was  traceable  to  his  conduct  and  his  judgement  — 
both  bad.  And  yet  all  this  while  he  might  be  working  to 
release  her,  near  upon  rescuing !  She  swung  round  to  the 
side  of  her  lover  against  these  executioner  parents,  and 
scribbled  to  him  as  well  as  she  could  under  the  cracks  in 
her  window-shutters,  urging  him  to  appear.  She  spent  her 
heart  on  it.  A  note  to  her  friend,  the  English  lady,  pro- 
tested her  love  for  Alvan,  but  with  less  abandonment,  with 
a  frozen  resignation  to  the  loss  of  him  —  all  around  her 
was  so  dark !  By-and-by  there  was  a  scratching  at  her 
door.  The  maid  whom  she  trusted  brought  her  news  of 
Alvan :  outside  the  door  and  in,  the  maid  and  mistress  knelt. 
Hope  flickered  up  in  the  bosom  of  Clotilde :  the  whispers 
were  exchanged  through  the  partition. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  Gone.'' 

"  But  where  ?  " 

"He  has  left  the  city." 

Clotilde  pushed  the  letter  for  her  friend  under  the  door : 
that  one  for  Alvan  she  retained,  stung  by  his  desertion  of 
her,  and  thinking  practically  that  it  was  useless  to  aim  a 
letter  at  a  man  without  an  address.  She  did  not  ask  herself 
whether  the  maid's  information  was  honest,  for  she  wanted 
to  despair,  as  the  exhausted  want  to  lie  down. 

She  wept  through  the  night.  It  was  one  of  those  nights 
of  the  torrents  of  tears  which  wash  away  all  save  the 
adamantine  within  us,  if  there  be  ought  of  that  besides  the 
breathing  structure.  The  reason  why  she  wept  with  so 
delirious  a  persistency  was,  that  her  nature  felt  the  necessity 
for  draining  her  of  her  self-pitifulness,  knowing  that  it 
nourished  the  love  whereby  she  was  tormented.  They  do 
not  weep  thus  who  have  a  heart  for  the  struggle.     In  the 


THE  TRAGIC   COI^fEDIANS  88 

morning  she  was  a  dried  channel  of  tears,  no  longer  self- 
pitiful  ;  careless  of  herself,  as  she  thought :  in  other  words, 
unable  any  further  to  contend.  Reality  was  too  strong ! 
This  morning  her  sisters  came  to  her  room  imploring  her 
to  yield :  —  if  she  married  Alvan,  what  could  be  their 
prospects  as  the  sisters-in-law  of  such  a  man  ?  —  her 
betrothed  sister  Lotte  could  not  hope  to  espouse  Count 
Walburg  :  —  Alvan's  name  was  infamous  in  society  ;  their 
house  would  be  a  lazar-house,  they  would  be  condemned  to 
seclusion.  A  favourite  brother  followed,  with  sympathy 
that  set  her  tears  running  again,  and  arguments  she  could 
not  answer :  —  how  could  he  hold  up  his  head  in  his  regi- 
ment as  the  relative  of  the  scandalous  Jew  democrat  ?  He 
would  have  to  leave  the  service,  or  be  duelling  with  his 
brother  officers  every  other  day  of  his  life,  for  rightly  or 
wrongly  Alvan  was  abhorred,  and  his  connection  would  be 
fatal  to  them  all,  perhaps  to  her  father's  military  and  diplo- 
matic career  principally :  the  head  of  their  house  would  be 
ruined.  She  was  compelled  to  weep  again  by  having  no 
other  reply.  The  tears  were  now  mixed  drops  of  pity  for 
her  absent  lover  and  her  family ;  she  was  already  disunited 
from  him  when  she  shed  them,  feeling  that  she  was  dry 
rock  to  herself,  heartless  as  many  bosoms  drained  of  self- 
pity  will  become. 

Incapable  of  that  any  further,  she  leaned  still  in  that 
direction  and  had  a  languid  willingness  to  gain  outward 
comfort.  To  be  caressed  a  little  by  her  own  kindred  before 
she  ceased  to  live  was  desirable  after  her  heavy  scourging. 
She  wished  for  the  touches  of  affection,  knowing  them  to  be 
selfish,  but  her  love  of  life  and  hard  view  of  its  reality 
made  them  seem  a  soft  reminder  of  what  life  had  been. 
Alvan  had  gone.  Her  natural  blankness  of  imagination 
read  his  absence  as  an  entire  relinquishment ;  it  knelled  in 
a  vacant  chamber.  He  had  gone ;  he  had  committed  an 
irretrievable  error,  he  had  given  up  a  fight  of  his  own  vain 
provoking,  that  was  too  severe  for  him :  he  was  not  the 
lover  he  fancied  himself,  or  not  the  lord  of  men  she  had 
fancied  him.  Her  excessive  misery  would  not  suffer  a  pic- 
ture of  him,  not  one  clear  recollection  of  him,  to  stand 
before  her.  He  who  should  have  been  at  hand,  had  gone, 
and  she  was  fearfully  beset,   almost  lifeless  j  and  being 


84  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

abandoned,  her  blank  night  of  imagination  felt  that  there 
was  nothing  left  for  her  save  to  fall  upon  those  nearest. 

She  gave  her  submission  to  her  mother.  In  her  mind, 
during  the  last  wrestling  with  a  weakness  that  was  alter- 
nately her  love  and  her  cowardice,  the  interpretation  of  the 
act  ran  :  ^'  He  ma}^  come,  and  I  am  his  if  he  comes  :  and  if 
not,  I  am  bound  to  my  people."  He  had  taught  her  to  rely 
on  him  blindly,  and  thus  she  did  it  inanimately  while  cut- 
ting herself  loose  from  him.  In  a  similar  mood,  the  spir- 
itual waverer  vows  to  believe  if  the  saint  will  appear. 
However,  she  submitted.  Then  there  was  joy  in  the  family, 
and  she  tasted  their  caresses. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 


After  his  deed  of  loftiness  Alvan  walked  to  his  hotel, 
where  the  sight  of  the  room  Clotilde  had  entered  that 
morning  caught  his  breath.  He  proceeded  to  write  his 
first  letter  to  General  von  Ktidiger,  repressing  his  heart's 
intimations  that  he  had  stepped  out  of  the  friendly  path, 
and  was  on  a  strange  and  tangled  one.  The  sense  of  power 
in  him  was  leonine  enough  to  promise  the  forcing  of  a  way 
whithersoever  the  path:  yet  did  that  ghost  of  her  figure 
across  the  room  haunt  him  with  searching  eyes.  They  set 
him  spying  over  himself  at  an  actor  who  had  not  needed  to 
be  acting  his  part,  brilliant  though  it  was.  He  crammed 
his  energy  into  his  idea  of  the  part,  to  carry  it  forward 
victoriously.  Before  the  world,  it  would  without  question 
redound  to  his  credit,  and  he  heard  the  world  acclaiming 
him:  — 

"  Alvan's  wife  was  honourably  won,  as  became  the  wife 
of  a  Doctor  of  Law,  from  the  bosom  of  her  family,  when  he 
could  have  had  her  in  the  old  lawless  fashion,  for  a  call  to 
a  coachman  !  Alvan,  the  republican,  is  eminently  a  citi- 
zen.    Consider  his  past  life  by  that  test  of  his  character." 

He  who  had  many  times  defied  the  world  in  hot  rebellion, 
had  become,  through  his  desire  to  cherish  a  respectable  pas- 
sion, if  not  exactly  slavish   to  it,  subservient,  as  we  see 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  85 

royal  personages,  that  are  happy  to  be  on  bowing  terms 
with  the  multitude  bowing  lower.  Lower,  of  course,  the 
multitude  must  bow,  to  inspire  an  august  serenity;  but  the 
nod  they  have  in  exchange  for  it  is  not  an  independent  one. 
Ceasing  to  be  a  social  rebel,  he  conceived  himself  as  a 
recognized  dignitary,  and  he  passed  under  the  bondage  of 
that  position. 

Clotilde  had  been  in  this  room ;  she  had  furnished  proof 
that  she  could  be  trusted  now.  She  had  committed  herself, 
perished  as  a  maiden  of  society,  and  her  parents,  even  the 
senseless  mother,  must  see  it  and  decide  by  it.  The  Gen- 
eral would  bring  her  to  reason :  General  von  Riidiger  was  a 
man  of  the  world.  An  honourable  son-in-law  could  not 
but  be  acceptable  to  him  —  now,  at  least.  And  such  a  son- 
in-law  would  ultimately  be  the  pride  of  his  house.  "A 
flower  from  thy  garden,  friend,  and  my  wearing  it  shall  in 
good  time  be  cause  for  some  parental  gratification.''    . 

The  letter  despatched,  Alvan  paced  his  chamber  with  the 
ghost  of  Clotilde.  He  was  presently  summoned  to  meet 
Count  Walburg  and  another  intimate  of  the  family,  in  the 
hotel  downstairs.  These  gentlemen  brought  no  message 
from  General  von  Riidiger:  their  words  were  directed  to 
extract  a  promise  from  him  that  he  would  quit  his  pursuit 
of  Clotilde,  and  of  course  he  refused ;  they  hinted  that  the 
General  might  have  official  influence  to  get  him  expelled  the 
city,  and  he  referred  them  to  the  proof;  but  he  looked  be- 
yond the  words  at  a  new  something  of  extraordinary  and 
sinister  aspect  revealed  to  him  in  their  manner  of  treating 
his  pretensions  to  the  hand  of  the  lady. 

He  had  not  yet  perfectly  seen  the  view  the  world  took  of 
him,  because  of  his  armed  opposition  to  the  world;  nor 
could  he  rightly  reflect  on  it  yet,  being  too  anxious  to  sign 
the  peace.  He  felt  as  it  were  a  blow  startling  him  from 
sleep.  His  visitors  tasked  themselves  to  be  strictly  polite ; 
they  did  not  undervalue  his  resources  for  commanding 
respect  between  man  and  man.  The  strange  matter  was 
behind  their  bearing,  which  indicated  the  positive  impos- 
sibility of  the  union  of  Clotilde  with  one  such  as  he,  and 
struck  at  the  curtain  covering  his  history.  He  could  not 
raise  it  to  thunder  his  defence  of  himself,  or  even  allude  to 
the  implied  contempt  of  his  character :  with  a  boiling  gorge 


86  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

he  was  obliged  to  swallow  both  the  history  and  the  insult, 
returning  them  the  equivalent  of  their  courtesies,  though  it 
was  on  his  lips  to  thunder  heavily. 

A  second  endeavour,  in  an  urgent  letter  before  nightfall 
to  gain  him  admission  to  head-quarters,  met  the  same  re- 
pulse as  the  foregoing.  The  bearer  of  it  was  dismissed 
without  an  answer. 

Alvan  passed  a  night  of  dire  disturbance.  The  fate  of 
the  noble  Genoese  conspirator,  slipping  into  still  harbour 
water  on  the  step  from  boat  to  boat,  and  borne  down  by  the 
weight  of  his  armour  in  the  moment  of  the  ripeness  of  his 
plot  at  midnight,  when  the  signal  for  action  sparkled  to 
lighten  across  the  ships  and  forts,  had  touched  him  in  his 
boy's  readings,  and  he  found  a  resemblance  of  himself  to 
Fiesco,  stopped  as  he  was  by  a  base  impediment,  tripped 
ignominiously,  choked  by  the  weight  of  the  powers  fitting 
him  for  battle.  A  man  such  as  Alvan,  arrested  on  his 
career  by  an  opposition  to  his  enrolment  of  a  bride  !  —  think 
of  it !  What  was  this  girl  in  a  life  like  his  ?  But,  oh  !  the 
question  was  no  sooner  asked  than  the  thought  that  this 
girl  had  been  in  this  room  illuminated  the  room,  telling  him 
she  might  have  been  his  own  this  instant,  confounding  him 
with  an  accusation  of  madness  for  rejecting  her.  Why  had 
he  done  it  ?  Surely  women,  weak  women,  must  be  at  times 
divinely  inspired.  She  warned  him  against  the  step.  But 
he,  proud  of  his  armoury,  went  his  way.  He  choked,  he 
suffered  the  torture  of  the  mailed  Genoese  going  under; 
worse,  for  the  drowner's  delirium  swirls  but  a  minute  in 
the  gaping  brain,  while  he  had  to  lie  all  night  at  the  mercy 
of  the  night. 

He  was  only  calmer  when  morning  came.  Night  has 
little  mercy  for  the  self-reproachful,  and  for  a  strong  man 
denouncing  the  folly  of  his  error,  it  has  none.  The  bequest 
of  the  night  was  a  fever  of  passion ;  and  upon  that  fever 
the  light  of  morning  cleared  his  head  to  weigh  the  force 
opposing  him.  He  gnawed  the  paradox,  that  it  was  huge 
because  it  was  petty,  getting  a  miserable  sour  sustenance 
out  of  his  consciousness  of  the  position  it  explained.  Great 
enemies,  great  undertakings,  would  have  revived  him  as 
they  had  always  revived  and  fortified.  But  here  was  a 
stolid  small  obstacle,  scarce  assailable  on  its  own  level  j  and 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  87 

he  had  chosen  that  it  should  be  attacked  through  its  own 
laws  and  forms.  By  shutting  a  door,  by  withholding  an 
answer  to  his  knocks,  the  thing  reduced  him  to  hesitation. 
And  the  thing  had  weapons  to  shoot  at  him ;  his  history, 
his  very  blood,  stood  open  to  its  shafts ;  and  the  sole  qual- 
ity of  a  giant  which  he  could  show  to  front  it,  was  the 
breadth  of  one  for  a  mark. 

These  direct  perceptions  of  the  circumstances  were  played 
on  by  the  fever  he  drew  from  his  Fiesco  bed.  Accuracy 
of  vision  in  our  crises  is  not  so  uncommon  as  the  propor- 
tionate equalit}^  of  feeling  :  we  do  indeed  frequently  see 
with  eyes  of  just  measurement  while  we  are  conducting  our- 
selves like  madmen.  The  facts  are  seen,  and  yet  the  spin- 
ning nerves  will  change  their  complexion ;  and  without 
enlarging  or  minimizing,  they  will  alternate  their  effect  on 
us  immensely  through  the  colour  presenting  them  —  now 
sombre,  now  hopeful :  doing  its  work  of  extravagance  upon 
perceptibly  plain  matter.  The  fitful  colour  is  the  fever. 
He  must  win  her,  for  he  never  yet  had  failed  —  he  had  lost 
her  by  his  folly  !  She  was  his  —  she  was  torn  from  him  ! 
She  would  come  at  his  bidding  —  she  would  cower  to  her 
tyrants  !  The  thought  of  her  was  life  and  death  in  his 
frame,  bright  heaven  and  the  abyss.  At  one  beat  of  the 
heart  she  swam  to  his  arms,'  at  another  he  was  straining 
over  darkness.     And  whose  the  fault  ? 

He  rose  out  of  his  amazement  crying  it  with  a  roar,  and 
foreignly  beholding  himself.  He  pelted  himself  with  epi- 
thets ;  his  worst  enemies  could  not  have  been  handier  in 
using  them.  From  Alvan  to  Alvan,  they  signified  such  an 
earthquake  in  a  land  of  splendid  structures  as  shatters  to 
dust  the  pride  of  the  works  of  men.  He  was  down  among 
them,  lower  than  the  herd,  rolling  in  vulgar  epithets  that, 
attached  to  one  like  him,  became  of  monstrous  distortion. 
0  fool !  dolt!  blind  ass!  tottering  idiot!  drunken  masquer- 
ader !  miserable  Jack  Knave,  performing  suicide  with  that 
blessed  coxcomb  air  of  curling  a  lock !  —  Clotilde  !  Clotilde  ! 
Where  has  one  read  a  story  of  a  man  who  had  the  jewel  of 
jewels  in  his  hand,  and  flung  it  into  the  deeps,  thinking 
that  he  flung  a  pebble?  Fish,  fool,  fish!  and  fish  till 
Doomsday!  There's  nothing  but  your  fool's  face  in  the 
water  to  "be  got  to  bite  at  the  bait  you  throw,  fool !     Fish 


88  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

for  the  flung-away  beauty,  and  hook  your  shadow  of  a  Bot- 
tom's head !  What  impious  villain  was  it  refused  the  gift 
of  the  gods,  that  he  might  have  it  bestowed  on  him  accord- 
ing to  his  own  prescription  of  the  ceremonies !  They 
laugh !  By  Orcus !  how  they  laugh !  The  laughter  of  the 
gods  is  the  lightning  of  death's  irony  over  mortals.  Can 
they  have  a  finer  subject  than  a  giant  gone  fool  ? 

Tears  burst  from  him  :  tears  of  rage,  regret,  self-lashing. 
O  for  yesterday  !  He  called  aloud  for  the  recovery  of  yes- 
terday, bellowed,  groaned.  A  giant  at  war  with  pygmies, 
having  nought  but  their  weapons,  having  to  fight  them  on 
his  knees,  to  fight  them  with  the  right  hand  while  smiting 
himself  with  the  left,  has  too  much  upon  him  to  keep  his 
private  dignity  in  order.  He  was  the  same  in  his  letters 
—  a  Cyclops  hurling  rocks  and  raising  the  seas  to  ship- 
wreck. Dignity  was  cast  off ;  he  came  out  naked.  Letters 
to  Clotilde,  and  to  the  baroness,  to  the  friend  nearest  him 
just  then.  Colonel  von  Tresten,  calling  them  to  him,  were 
dashed  to  paper  in  this  naked  frenzy,  and  he  could  rave 
with  all  the  truth  of  life,  that  to  have  acted  the  idiot,  more 
than  the  loss  of  the  woman,  was  the  ground  of  his  anguish. 
Each  antecedent  of  his  career  had  been  a  step  of  strength, 
and  success  departed.  The  woman  was  but  a  fragment  of 
the  tremendous  wreck ;  the  woman  was  utterly  diminutive, 
yet  she  was  the  key  of  the  reconstruction ;  the  woman  won, 
he  would  be  himself  once  more  :  and  feeling  that,  his  pas- 
sion for  her  swelled  to  full  tide  and  she  became  a  towering 
splendour  whereat  his  eyeballs  ached,  she  became  a  melting 
armful  that  shook  him  to  big  bursts  of  tears. 

The  feeling  of  the  return  of  strength  was  his  love  in 
force.  The  giant  in  him  loved  her  warmly.  Her  sweet- 
ness, her  archness,  the  opening  of  her  lips,  their  way  of 
holding  closed,  and  her  brightness  of  wit,  her  tender  eye- 
lashes, her  appreciating  looks,  her  sighing,  the  thousand 
varying  shades  of  her  motions  and  her  features  interflowing 
like  a  lighted  water,  swam  to  him  one  by  one  like  so  many 
handmaiden  messengers  distinctly  beheld  of  the  radiant 
indistinct  whom  he  adored  with  more  of  spirit  in  his  pas- 
sion than  before  this  tempest.  A  giant  going  through  a 
giant's  contortions,  fleshly  as  the  race  of  giants,  and  gross, 
coarse,  dreadful,  likely  to  be  horrible  when  whipped  and 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  89 

stirred  to  tlie  dregs.  Alvan  was  great-hearted:  he  could 
love  in  his  giant's  fashion,  love  and  lay  down  life  for  the 
woman  he  loved,  though  the  nature  of  the  passion  was  not 
heavenly;  or  for  the  friend  —  who  would  have  to  excuse 
him  often  ;  or  for  the  public  cause — which  was  to  minister 
to  his  appetites.  He  was  true  man,  a  native  of  earth,  and 
if  he  could  not  quit  his  huge  personality  to  pipe  spiritual 
music  during  a  storm  of  trouble,  being  a  soul  wedged  in 
the  gnarled  wood  of  the  standing  giant  oak,  and  giving 
mighty  sound  of  timber  at  strife  rather  than  the  angelical 
cry,  he  suffered,  as  he  loved,  to  his  depths. 

We  have  not  to  plumb  the  depths;  he  was  not  heroic,  but 
hugely  man.  Love  and  man  sometimes  meet  for  noble 
concord ;  the  strings  of  the  hungry  instrument  are  not  all 
so  rough  that  Love's  touch  on  them  is  indistinguishable 
from  the  rattling  of  the  wheels  within  ;  certain  herald  har- 
monies have  been  heard.  But  Love,  which  purities  and 
enlarges  us,  and  sets  free  the  soul.  Love  visiting  a  fleshly 
frame  must  have  time  and  space,  and  some  help  of  circum- 
stance, to  give  the  world  assurance  that  the  man  is  a  tem- 
ple fit  for  the  rites.  Out  of  romances,  he  is  not  melodiously 
composed.  And  in  a  giant  are  various  giants  to  be  slain,  or 
thoroughly  subdued,  ere  this  divinity  is  taken  for  leader. 
It  is  not  done  by  miracle. 

As  it  happened  cruelly  for  Alvan,  the  woman  who  had 
become  the  radiant  indistinct  in  his  desiring  mind  was  one 
whom  he  knew  to  be  of  a  shivery  steadfastness.  His  pluck- 
ing her  from  another  was  neither  wonderful  nor  indefensi- 
ble ;  they  two  were  suited  as  no  other  two  could  be ;  the 
handsome  boy  who  had  gone  through  a  form  of  plighting 
with  her  was  her  slave,  and  she  required  for  her  mate  a 
master :  she  felt  it  and  she  sided  to  him  quite  naturally, 
moved  by  the  sacred  direction  of  the  acknowledgment  of  a 
mutual  fitness.  Twice,  however,  she  had  relapsed  on  the 
occasions  of  his  absence,  and  owning  his  power  over  her 
when  they  were  together  again,  she  sowed  the  fatal  convic- 
tion that  he  held  her  at  present,  and  that  she  was  a  woman 
only  to  be  held  at  present,  by  the  palpable  grasp  of  his  phy- 
sical influence.  Partly  it  was  correct,  not  entirely,  seeing 
that  she  kept  the  impression  of  a  belief  in  him  even  when 
she  drifted  away  through  sheer  weakness,  but  it  was  the 


90  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

single  positive  view  he  had  of  her,  and  it  was  fatal,  for 
it  begat  a  devil  of  impatience. 

"  They  are  undermining  her  now  —  now  —  now !  " 
He  started  himself  into  busy  frenzies  to  reach  to  her, 
already  indifferent  to  the  means,  and  waxing  increasingly 
reckless  as  he  fed  on  his  agitation.  Some  faith  in  her,  even 
the  little  she  deserved,  would  have  arrested  him  :  unhap- 
pily he  had  less  than  she,  who  had  enough  to  nurse  the  dim 
sense  of  his  fixity,  and  sank  from  him  only  in  her  heart's 
faintness,  but  he,  when  no  longer  flattered  by  the  evidence 
of  his  mastery,  took  her  for  sand.  Why,  then,  had  he  let 
her  out  of  his  grasp  ?  The  horrid  echoed  interrogation 
flashed  a  hideous  view  of  the  woman.  But  how  had  he 
come  to  be  guilty  of  it  ?  he  asked  himself  again ;  and,  with- 
out answering  him,  his  counsellors  to  that  poor  wisdom  set 
to  work  to  complete  it :  Giant  Vanity  urged  Giant  Energy 
to  make  use  of  Giant  Duplicity.  He  wrote  to  Clotilde, 
with  one  voice  quoting  the  law  in  their  favour,  with 
another  commanding  her  to  break  it.  He  gathered  and 
drilled  a  legion  of  spies,  and  showered  his  gold  in  bribes 
and  plots  to  get  the  letter  to  her,  to  get  an  interview  — 
one  human  word  between  them. 


CHAPTEE  X. 


His  friend  Colonel  von  Tresten  was  beside  him  when  he 
received  the  enemy's  counter-stroke.  Count  Walburg  and 
his  companion  brought  a  letter  from  Clotilde  —  no  reply ; 
a  letter  renouncing  him. 

Briefly,  in  cold  words  befitting  the  act,  she  stated  that 
the  past  must  be  dead  between  them ;  for  the  future  she 
belonged  to  her  parents ;  she  had  left  the  city.  She  knew 
not  where  he  might  be,  her  letter  concluded,  but  hencefor- 
ward he  should  know  that  they  were  strangers. 

Alvan  held  out  the  deadly  paper  when  he  had  read  the 
contents ;  he  smote  a  forefinger  on  it  and  crumpled  it  in  his 
hand.  That  was  the  dumb  oration  of  a  man  shocked  by 
the  outrage  upon  passionate  feeling  to  the  state  of  brute. 


THE   TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  91 

His  fist,  outstretched  to  the  length  of  his  arm,  shook  the 
reptile  letter  under  a  terrible  frown. 

Tresten  saw  that  he  supposed  himself  to  be  perfectly 
master  of  his  acts  because  he  had  not  spoken,  and  had 
managed  to  preserve  the  ordinary  courtesies. 

"You  have  done  your  commission,"  the  colonel  said  to 
Count  Walburg,  whose  companion  was  not  disposed  to  go 
without  obtaining  satisfactory  assurances,  and  pressed  for 
them. 

Alvan  fastened  on  him.  "You  adopt  the  responsibility 
of  this  ?  "     He  displayed  the  letter. 

"I  do." 

"It  lies." 

Tresten  remarked  to  Count  Walburg :  "  These  visits  are 
provocations." 

"  They  are  not  so  intended,"  said  the  count,  bowing  paci- 
fically. His  friend  was  not  a  man  of  the  sword,  and  was 
not  under  the  obligation  to  accept  an  insult.  They  left  the 
letter  to  do  its  work. 

Big  natures  in  their  fits  of  explosiveness  must  be  taken 
by  flying  shots,  as  dwarfs  peep  on  a  monster,  or  the  Scy- 
thian attacked  a  phalanx.  Were  we  to  hear  all  the  roar- 
ings of  the  shirted  Heracles,  a  world  of  comfortable  little 
ones  would  doubt  the  unselfishness  of  his  love  of  Dejaneira. 
Yes,  really ;  they  would  think  it  was  not  a  chivalrous  love : 
they  would  consider  that  he  thought  of  himself  too  much. 
They  would  doubt,  too,  of  his  being  a  gentleman !  Partial 
glimpses  of  him,  one  may  fear,  will  be  discomposing  to 
simple  natures.  There  was  a  short  black  eruption.  Alvan 
controlled  it,  to  ask  hastily  what  the  baroness  thought  and 
what  she  had  heard  of  Clotilde.  Tresten  made  sign  that  it 
was  nothing  of  the  best. 

"  See !  my  girl  has  hundreds  of  enemies,  and  I,  only  I, 
know  her  and  can  defend  her  —  weak,  base,  shallow  trick- 
ster, traitress  that  she  is ! "  cried  Alvan,  and  came  down  in 
a  thundershower  upon  her:  "Yesterdaj^  —  the  day  before 
—  when?  just  now,  here,  in  this  room  ;  gave  herself  —  and 
now  ! "  He  bent,  and  immediately  straightening  his  back, 
addressed  Colonel  von  Tresten  as  her  calumniator,  "Say 
your  worst  of  her,  and  I  say  I  will  make  of  that  girl  the 
peerless  woman  of  earth !     I !  in  earnest !  it 's  no  dream. 


92  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

She  can  be  made.  .  .  .  O  God !  the  beast  has  turned  tail ! 
I  knew  she  could.  There 's  three  of  beast  to  one  of  god- 
dess in  her,  and  set  her  alone,  and  let  her  be  hunted  and  I 
not  by,  beast  it  is  with  her !  cowardly  skulking  beast  —  the 
noblest  and  very  bravest  under  my  wing!  Incomprehen- 
sible to  you,  Tresten  ?  But  who  understands  women!  You 
hate  her.  Do  not.  She's  a  riddle,  but  no  worse  than  the 
rest  of  the  tangle.  She  gives  me  up  ?  Pooh  !  She  writes 
it.  She  writes  anything.  And  that  vilest,  I  say,  I  will 
make  more  enviable,  more  —  Clotilde!"  he  thundered  her 
signature  in  an  amazement,  broken  suddenly  by  the  sight 
of  her  putting  her  name  to  the  letter.  She  had  done  that, 
written  her  name  to  the  renunciation  of  him !  No  indL 
vidual  could  bear  the  sight  of  such  a  crime,  and  no  suffer* 
ing  man  could  be  appeased  by  a  single  victim  to  atone  fo*- 
it.  Her  sex  must  be  slaughtered;  he  raged  against  tH^ 
woman;  she  became  that  ancient  poisonous  thing,  the 
woman;  his  fury  would  not  distinguish  her  as  Clotilde, 
though  the  name  had  started  him,  and  it  was  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  particular  sinner  which  drew  down  his  curses 
on  the  sex.  He  twisted  his  body,  hugging  at  his  ureast  as 
if  he  had  her  letter  sticking  in  his  ribs.  The  letr-e?  was  up 
against  his  ribs,  and  he  thumped  it,  crushed  it,  patted  it ; 
he  kissed  it,  and  flung  it,  stamped  on  it,  ana  was  foul- 
mouthed.  Seeing  it  at  his  feet,  he  bent  to  it  like  a  man 
snapped  in  two,  lamenting,  bewailing  himseit,  recovering 
sight  of  her  fragmentarily.  It  stuck  in  nis  ribs,  and  in 
scorn  of  the  writer,  and  sceptical  of  her  penning  it,  he 
tugged  to  pull  it  out,  and  broke  the  sualt,  but  left  the 
rankling  arrow-head :  —  she  had  traced  the  lines,  and 
though  tyranny  racked  her  to  do  that  thing,  his  agony 
followed  her  hand  over  the  paper  to  her  name,  which  fixed 
and  bit  in  him  like  the  deadly-tooclied  arrow-head  called 
asp,  and  there  was  no  uprooting  ix,.  The  thing  lived ;  her 
deed  was  the  woman ;  there  was  no  separating  them :  wit- 
ness it  in  love  murdered. 

O  that  woman !  She  has  murctered  love.  She  has  blotted 
love  completely  out.  She  is  ttie  arch-thief  and  assassin  of 
mankind  —  the  female  Apoliyon.  He  lost  sight  of  her  in 
the  prodigious  iniquity  covering  her  sex  with  a  cowl  of 
night,  and  it  was   what  women  are,  what  women  will  do, 


THE   TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  93 

the  one  and  all  alike  simpering  simulacra  that  men  find 
them  to  be,  soulless,  clogs  on  us,  blood-suckers !  until  a 
feature  of  the  particular  sinner  peeped  out  on  him,  and 
brought  the  fresh  agony  of  a  reminder  of  his  great-hearted- 
ness.  "  For  that  woman  —  Tresten,  you  know  me  —  I  would 
have  sacrificed  for  that  woman  fortune  and  life,  my  hope, 
my  duty,  my  immortality.  She  knew  it,  and  she  —  look!'^ 
he  unwrinkled  the  letter  carefully  for  it  to  be  legible,  and 
clenched  it  in  a  ball  —  "  Signs  her  name,  signs  her  name, 
her  name !  —  God  of  heaven  !  it  would  be  incredible  in  a 
holy  chronicle  —  signs  her  name  to  the  infamous  harlotry! 
See:  ^Clotilde  von  Eudiger/  It's  her  writing;  that's  her 
signature:  ^Clotilde'  in  full.  You'd  hardly  fancy  that, 
now  ?  But  look  ! "  the  colonel's  eyelids  were  blinking,  and 
Alvan  dinted  his  finger-nail  under  her  name  :  "  there  it  is  : 
Clotilde:  signed  shamelessly.  Just  as  she  might  have 
written  to  one  of  her  friends  about  bonnets,  and  balls,  and 
books  !  —  Henceforward  strangers,  she  and  I  ?  " 

His  laughter,  even  to  Tresten,  a  man  of  camps,  sounded 
profane  as  a  yell  beneath  a  cathedral  dome.  "Why,  the 
woman  has  been  in  my  hands  —  I  released  her,  spared  her, 
drilled  brain  and  blood,  ransacked  all  the  code,  to  do  her 
homage  and  honour  in  every  mortal  way ;  and  we  two  stran- 
gers !  Do  you  hear  that,  Tresten  ?  Why,  if  you  had  seen 
her!  —  she  was  lost,  and  I,  this  man  she  now  pierces  with 
ice,  kept  hell  down  under  bolt  and  bar  —  worse,  I  believe, 
broke  a  good  woman's  heart !  —  that  never  a  breath  should 
rise  that  could  accuse  her  on  suspicion,  or  in  malice,  or  by 
accident,  justly,  or  with  a  shadow  of  truth.  '  /  think  it 
best  for  us  both.'  So  she  thinks  for  me!  She  not  only 
decides,  she  thinks ;  she  is  the  active  principle ;  't  is  mine 
to  submit.  —  A  certain  presumption  was  in  that  girl  always. 
Ha!  do  you  hear  me?  Her  letter  may  sting,  it  shall  not 
dupe.  Strangers  ?  Poor  fool !  You  see  plainly  she  was 
nailed  down  to  write  the  thing.  This  letter  is  a  flat  lie. 
She  can  lie  —  Oh  !  born  to  the  art !  born  to  it !  —  lies  like 
a  Saint  tricking  Satan !  But  she  says  she  has  left  the  city. 
Now  to  find  her  !  " 

He  began  marching  about  the  room  with  great  strides. 
"  I  '11  have  the  whole  Continent  up ;  her  keepers  shall  have 
no  rest  j  I  '11  have  them  by  the  Law  Courts,  and  by  strata- 


94  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

gem,  and,  if  law  and  cunning  fail,  force.  I  have  sworn  it. 
I  have  done  all  that  honour  can  ask  of  a  man;  more  than 
any  man,  to  my  knowledge,  would  have  done,  and  now  it's 
war.  I  declare  war  on  them.  They  will  have  it !  I  mean 
to  take  that  girl  from  them  —  snatch  or  catch  !  The  girl  is 
my  girl,  and  if  there  are  laws  against  my  having  my  own, 
to  powder  with  the  laws !  Well,  and  do  you  suppose  me 
likely  to  be  beaten  ?  Then  Cicero  was  a  fiction,  and  Caesar 
a  people's  legend.  Not  if  they  are  history,  and  eloquence 
and  commandership  have  power  over  the  blood  and  souls  of 
men.     First,  I  write  to  her !  " 

His  friend  suggested  that  he  knew  not  where  she  was. 
But  already  the  pen  was  at  work,  the  brain  pouring  as 
from  a  pitcher. 

Writing  was  blood-letting,  and  the  interminable  pages 
drained  him  of  his  fever.  As  he  wrote,  she  grew  more 
radiant,  more  indistinct,  more  fiercely  desired.  The  con- 
centration of  his  active  mind  directed  his  whole  being 
on  the  track  of  Clotilde,  idealizing  her  beyond  human. 
That  last  day  when  he  had  seen  her  appeared  to  him  as 
the  day  of  days.  That  day  was  Clotilde  herself,  she  in 
person ;  he  saw  it  as  the  woman,  and  saw  himself  trans- 
lucent in  the  great  luminousness ;  and  behind  it  all  was 
dark,  as  in  front.  That  one  day  was  the  sun  of  his  life. 
It  had  been  a  day  of  rain,  and  he  beheld  it  in  memory 
just  as  it  had  been,  with  the  dark  threaded  air,  the  drip- 
ping streets;  and  he  glorified  it  past  all  daily  radiance. 
His  letter  was  a  burning  hymn  to  the  day.  His  moral 
grandeur  on  the  day  made  him  live  as  part  of  the  splendour. 
Was  it  possible  for  the  woman  who  had  seen  him  then  to 
be  faithless  to  him?  The  swift  deduction  from  his  own 
feelings  cleansed  her  of  a  suspicion  to  the  contrary,  and 
he  became  light-hearted.  He  hummed  an  air  when  he 
had  finished  his  letter  to  her. 

Councils  with  his  adherents  and  couriers  were  held,  and 
some  were  despatched  to  watch  the  house  and  slip  the 
letter  to  her  maid  ;  others  were  told  off  to  bribe  and  hound 
their  way  on  the  track  of  Clotilde.  His  gold  rained  into 
their  hands  with  the  directions. 

Colonel  von  Tresten  was  the  friend  of  his  attachment  to 
the  baroness;  a  friend  of  both,  and  a  warm  one.     Men 


THE   TRAGIC   COISIEDIANS  95 

coming  into  contact  with  Alvan  took  their  shape  of  friend 
or  enemy  sharply,  for  he  was  friend  or  enemy  of  no 
dubious  feature,  devoted  to  them  he  loved,  and  a  battery  on 
them  he  opposed.  The  colonel  had  been  the  confidant  of 
the  baroness's  grief  over  this  love-passion  of  Alvan's,  and 
her  resignation.  He  shared  her  doubts  of  Clotilde's  nobil- 
ity of  character :  the  reports  were  not  favourable  to  the 
young  lady.  But  the  baroness  and  he  were  of  one  opinion, 
that  Alvan  in  love  was  not  likely  to  be  governable  by 
prudent  counsel.  He  dropped  a  word  of  the  whispers  of 
Clotilde's  volatility. 

Alvan  nodded  his  perfect  assent.  "She  is  that,  she  is 
anything  you  like ;  you  cannot  exaggerate  her  for  good  or 
evil.  She  is  matchless,  colour  her  as  you  please."  Adopt- 
ing the  tone  of  argument,  he  said  :  "  She  writes  that  letter. 
Well  ?  It  is  her  writing,  and  the  moment  I  am  sure  of  it 
as  hers,  I  would  not  have  it  unwritten.  I  love  it ! "  He 
looked  maddish  with  his  love  of  the  horrible  thing,  and 
resumed  soberly:  "The  point  is,  that  she  has  the  charm  for 
me.  She  is  plastic  in  my  hands.  Other  men  would  waste 
the  treasure.  I  make  of  her  what  I  will,  and  she  knows 
it,  and  knows  that  she  hangs  on  me  to  flourish  worthily. 
I  breathe  the  very  soul  of  the  woman  into  her.  As  for 
that  letter  of  hers  —  "  it  burnt  him  this  time  to  speak  of 
the  letter  :  "  she  may  write  and  write  !  She  's  weak,  thin, 
a  reed ;  she  —  let  her  be !  Say  of  her  when  she  plays 
beast  —  she  is  absent  from  Alvan  !  I  can  forgive.  The 
letter  's  nothing  ;  it  means  nothing  —  except  '  Thou  fool, 
Alvan,  to  let  me  go.'  Yes,  that !  Her  people  are  act- 
ing tyrant  with  her  —  as  legally  they  have  no  right  to 
do  in  this  country,  and  I  shall  prove  it  to  them.  When 
I  have  gained  admission  to  her  —  and  I  soon  shall:  it 
can't  be  refused:  I  am  off  to  the  head  of  her  father's 
office  to-morrow,  and  I  have  only  to  represent  the  state 
of  affairs  to  the  Minister  in  my  language  to  obtain  his 
authority  to  demand  admission  to  her :  —  then,  friend, 
you  will  see  !  I  lift  my  finger,  and  you  will  see  !  At 
my  request  she  went  back  to  her  mother.  I  have  but  to 
beckon." 

He  had  cooled  to  the  happy  assurance  of  his  authority 
over  her,  all  the  giants  of  his  system  being  well  in  action, 


96  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

and  when  that  is  the  case  with  a  big  nature  it  is  at  rest,  or 
such  is  the  condition  of  repose  granted  it  in  life. 

On  the  morrow  he  was  off  to  batter  at  doors  which  would 
have  expected  rather  the  summons  of  an  armed  mob  at  his 
heels  than  the  strange  cry  of  the  Radical  man  maltreated 
by  love. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  story  of  Clotilde's  departure  from  the  city,  like  that 
of  Alvan's,  communicated  to  her  by  her  maid,  was  an 
anticipation  of  the  truth,  disseminated  by  her  parents. 
She  was  removed  when  the  swarm  of  spies  and  secret 
letter-bearers  were  attaining  a  position  of  dignity  through 
the  rumour  of  legal  gentlemen  about  to  direct  the  move- 
ments of  the  besieging  army. 

A  stir  seemed  to  her  to  prognosticate  a  rescue  and  she 
went  not  unwillingly.  To  be  in  motion,  to  see  roadside 
faces,  pricked  her  senses  with  some  hope.  She  had  gained 
the  peace  she  needed,  and  in  that  state  her  heart  began  to 
be  agitated  by  a  fresh  awakening,  luxurious  at  first  rather 
than  troublesome.  She  had  sunk  so  low  that  the  light  of 
Alvan  seemed  too  distant  for  a  positive  expectation  of 
him ;  but  few  approached  her  whom  she  did  not  fancy  under 
strange  disguises  :  the  gentlemen  were  servants,  the  blouses 
were  gentlemen ;  she  looked  wistfully  at  old  women  bear- 
ing baskets,  for  the  forbidden  fruit  to  peep  out  in  the  form 
of  an  envelope.     All  passed  her  blankly,  noticing  her  eyes. 

The  journey  was  short;  she  was  taken  to  a  place  a  little 
beyond  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  there,  though  she  had 
liberty  to  breathe  the  air,  fast  fixed  within  the  walls  of  a 
daily  sameness  that  became  gradually  the  hum  of  voices 
accusing  Alvan  of  one  in  excess  of  the  many  sins  laid 
against  him  by  his  enemies.  Was  he  not  possibly  an 
empty  pretender  to  power  —  a  mere  great  talker?  Her  bit 
of  liberty  increased  her  chafing  at  the  deadly  monotony  of 
this  existence,  and  envenomed  the  accusation  by  seeming 
to  push  her  forth  quite  half  way  to  meet  him,  if  he  would 
but  come  or  show  sign  !    She  impetuously  vindicated  him 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  97 

from  the  charge  of  crediting  the  sincerity  of  any  words  she 
might  have  committed  to  paper  at  the  despotic  dictation 
of  her  father.  Oh,  no ;  Alvan  could  not  be  guilty  of  such 
folly  as  that;  he  could  not;  it  would  be  to  suppose  him 
unacquainted  with  her,  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  women. 
He  would  know  that  she  wrote  the  words  —  why?  She 
could  not  perfectly  recollect  how  she  had  come  to  write 
them,  and  found  it  easier  to  extinguish  the  act  of  having 
written  them  at  all,  which  was  done  by  the  angry  recur- 
rence to  his  failure  to  intervene  now  when  the  drama  cried 
for  his  godlike  appearance.  Perhaps  he  was  really  unac- 
quainted with  her  —  thought  her  stronger  than  she  was  ! 
The  idea  reflected  a  shadow  on  his  intelligence.  She  was 
not  in  a  situation  that  could  bear  of  her  blaming  herself. 

While  she  was  thus  devoured  by  the  legions  of  her  en- 
feebled wits,  Clotilde  was  assiduously  courted  by  her 
family,  and  her  father  from  time  to  time  brought  pen  and 
paper  for  her  to  write  anew  from  his  dictation.  He  was 
pleased  to  hail  her  as  his  fair  secretary,  and  when  the 
letters  were  unimportant  she  wrote  flowingly,  happy  to 
be  praised.  They  were  occasionally  addressed  to  friends; 
she  discovered  herself  writing  one  to  the  professor,  in 
which  he  was  about  to  be  informed  that  she  had  resolved 
to  banish  Alvan  from  her  mind  for  ever.  She  stopped; 
her  heart  stopped;  the  pen  fell  from  her  hand,  in  loath- 
ing. Her  father  warily  bade  her  proceed.  She  could  not; 
she  signified  it  choking.  Only  a  few  days  before  she  had 
written  to  the  professor  exultingly  of  her  engagement. 
She  refused  to  belie  herself  in  such  a  manner;  retrospec- 
tively her  rapid  contradictions  appeared  impossible;  the 
picture  of  her  was  not  human,  and  she  gave  out  a  negative 
of  her  whole  frame  convulsed,  whereat  the  General  was 
not  slow  to  remind  her  of  the  scourgings  she  had  under- 
gone by  a  sudden  burst  of  his  wrath.  He  knew  the  proper 
physic.  "You  girls  want  the  lesson  we  read  to  skittish  re- 
cruits; you  shall  have  it.  Write :  '  He  is  now  as  nothing  to 
me.^  You  shall  write  that  you  hate  him,  if  you  hesitate  ! 
Why,  you  unreasonable  slut,  you  have  given  him  up ;  you 
have  told  him  you  have  given  him  up,  and  what  objection 
can  you  have  to  telling  others  now  you  have  done  it?  " 

"  t  was  forced  to  it,  body  and  soul ! "  cried  Clotilde, 

.  1 


98  THE  TRAGIC   COT^IEDIAITS 

sobbing  and  bursting  into  desperation  out  of  a  weak  show 
of  petulance  that  she  had  put  on  to  propitiate  him.  "If 
I  have  to  tell,  I  will  tell  how  it  was.  For  that  my  heart 
is  unchanged,  and  Alvan  is,  and  will  be,  my  lord,  all  the 
world  may  see.     I  would  rather  write  that  I  hate  him." 

"  You  write,  the  man  is  now  as  nothing  to  me  !  "  said  her 
father,  dashing  his  finger  in  a  fiery  zig-zag  along  the  line 
for  her  pen  to  follow.  "  Or  else,  my  girl,  you  Ve  been 
playing  us  a  pretty  farce  !  "  He  strung  himself  for  a  mad 
gallop  of  wrath,  gave  her  a  shudder,  and  relapsed.  "  No, 
no,  you  're  wiser,  you  're  a  better  girl  than  that.  Write 
it.  I  must  have  it  written  —  here,  come  !  The  worst  is 
over;  the  rest  is  child's  play.  Come,  take  the  pen,  I  '11 
guide  your  hand." 

The  pen  was  fixed  in  her  hand,  and  the  first  words 
formed.  They  looked  such  sprawling  skeletons  that 
Clotilde  had  the  comfort  of  feeling  sure  they  would  be  dis- 
cerned as  the  work  of  compulsion.  So  she  wrote  on 
mechanically,  solacing  herself  for  what  she  did  with  vows 
of  future  revolt.  Alvan  had  a  saying,  that  want  of 
courage  is  want  of  sense  ;  and  she  remembered  his  illustra- 
tion of  how  sense  would  nourish  courage  by  scattering  the 
fear  of  death,  if  we  would  only  grasp  the  thought  that  we 
sink  to  oblivion  gladly  at  night,  and,  most  of  us,  quit  it 
reluctantly  in  the  morning.  She  shut  her  eyes  while 
writing;  she  fancied  death  would  be  welcome;  and  as  she 
certainly  had  sense,  she  took  it  for  the  promise  of  courage. 
She  flattered  herself  by  believing,  therefore,  that  she  who 
did  not  object  to  die  was  only  awaiting  the  cruelly-delayed 
advent  of  her  lover  to  be  almost  as  brave  as  he  —  the 
feminine  of  him.  With  these  ideas  in  her  head  much 
clearer  than  when  she  wrote  the  couple  of  lines  to  Alvan 
—  for  then  her  head  was  reeling,  she  was  then  beaten  and 
prostrate  —  she  signed  her  name  to  a  second  renunciation 
of  him,  and  was  aware  of  a  flush  of  self-reproach  at  the 
simple  suspicion  of  his  being  deceived  by  it;  it  was  an 
insult  to  his  understanding.  Full  surely  the  professor 
would  not  be  deceived,  and  a  lover  with  a  heart  to  reach 
to  her  and  read  her  could  never  be  hoodwinked  by  so  pal- 
pable a  piece  of  slavishness.  She  was  indeed  slavish;  the 
apology  necessitated  the  confession.     But  that  promise  of 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  99 

courage,  coining  of  her  ownership  of  sense,  vindicated  her 
prospectively;  she  had  so  little  of  it  that  she  embraced  it 
as  a  present  possession,  and  she  made  it  Alvan's  task  to 
put  it  to  the  trial.  Hence  it  became  Alvan's  offence  if, 
owing  to  his  absence,  she  could  be  charged  with  behaving 
badly.  Her  generosity  pardoned  him  his  inexplicable 
delay  to  appear  in  his  might:  "But  see  what  your  con- 
tinued delay  causes  !  "  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  merely 
sorrowful. 

She  had  forgotten  her  signature  to  the  letter  to  the 
professor  when  his  answer  arrived.  The  sight  of  the 
handwriting  of  one  of  her  lover's  faithfullest  friends  was 
like  a  peal  of  bells  to  her,  and  she  tore  the  letter  open, 
and  began  to  blink  and  spell  at  a  strange  language,  taking 
the  frosty  sentences  piecemeal.  He  begged  her  to  be  firm 
in  her  resolution,  give  up  Alvan  and  obey  her  parents! 
This  man  of  high  intelligence  and  cultivation  wrote  like 
a  provincial  schoolmistress  moralizing.  Though  he  knew 
the  depth  of  her  passion  for  Alvan,  and  had  within  the 
month  received  her  lark-song  of  her  betrothal,  he,  this 
man  —  if  living  man  he  could  be  thought  —  counselled  her 
to  endeavour  to  deserve  the  love  and  respect  of  her  parents, 
alluded  to  Alvan's  age  and  her  better  birth,  approved  her 
resolve  to  consult  the  wishes  of  her  family,  and  in  fine 
was  as  rank  a  traitor  to  friendship  as  any  chronicled. 
Out  on  him!     She  swept  him  from  earth. 

And  she  had  built  some  of  her  hopes  on  the  professor. 

"False  friend  !  "  she  cried. 

She  wept  over  Alvan  for  having  had  so  false  a  friend. 

There  remained  no  one  that  could  be  expected  to  inter- 
vene with  a  strong  arm  save  the  baroness.  The  professor's 
emphasized  approval  of  her  resolve  to  consult  the  wishes 
of  her  family  was  a  shocking  hypocrisy,  and  Clotilde 
thought  of  the  contrast  to  it  in  her  letter  to  the  baroness. 
The  tripping  and  stumbling,  prettily  awkward  little  tone 
of  gosling  innocent  new  from  its  egg,  throughout  the 
letter,  was  a  triumph  of  candour.  She  repeated  passages, 
paragraphs,  of  the  letter,  assuring  herself  that  such  affec- 
tionately reverential  prattle  would  have  moved  her,  and 
with  the  strongest  desire  to  cast  her  arms  about  the  writer  ; 
it  had  been  composed  to  be  moving  to  a  woman,  to  any 


100  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

woman.  The  old  woman  was  entreated  to  bestow  her 
blessing  on  the  young  one,  all  in  Arcadia,  and  let  the 
young  one  nestle  to  the  bosom  she  had  not  an  idea  of  rob- 
bing. She  could  not  have  had  the  idea,  else  how  could  she 
have  made  the  petition?  And  in  order  to  compliment  a 
venerable  dame  on  her  pure  friendship  for  a  gentleman,  it 
was  imperative  to  reject  the  idea.  Besides,  after  seeing 
the  photograph  of  the  baroness,  common  civility  insisted 
on  the  purity  of  her  friendship.  Nay,  in  mercy  to  the 
poor  gentleman,  friendship  it  must   be. 

A  letter  of  reply  from  that  noble  lady  was  due.  Pos- 
sibly she  had  determined  not  to  write,  but  to  act.  She 
was  a  lady  of  exalted  birth,  a  lady  of  the  upper  aristocracy, 
who  could,  if  she  would,  bring  both  a  social  and  official 
pressure  upon  the  General :  and  it  might  be  in  motion  now 
behind  the  scenes,  Clotilde  laid  hold  of  her  phantom 
baroness,  almost  happy  under  the  phantom's  whisper  that 
she  need  not  despair.  "You  have  been  a  little  weak," 
the  phantom  said  to  her,  and  she  acquiesced  with  a  soft 
sniffle,  adding:  "But,  dearest,  honoured  lady,  you  are  a 
woman,  and  know  what  our  trials  are  when  we  are  so 
persecuted.  O  that  I  had  your  beautiful  sedateness  !  I 
do  admire  it,  madam.  I  wish  I  could  imitate."  She 
carried  her  dramatic  ingenuousness  farther  still  by  saying: 
"  I  have  seen  your  photograph ;  "  implying  that  the  inimi- 
table, the  much  coveted  air  of  composure  breathed  out  of 
yonder  presentment  of  her  features.  "For  I  can't  call  you 
good-looking,"  she  said  within  herself,  for  the  satisfaction 
of  her  sense  of  candour,  of  her  sense  of  contrast  as  well. 
And  shutting  her  eyes,  she  thought  of  the  horrid  penitent 
a  harsh-faced  woman  in  confession  must  be. 

The  picture  sent  her  swimmingly  to  the  confessional, 
where  sat  a  man  with  his  head  in  a  hood,  and  he  soon 
heard  enough  of  mixed  substance  to  dash  his  hood,  almost 
his  head,  oS.  Beauty  may  be  immoderately  frank  in  soul 
to  the  ghostly.  The  black  page  comprised  a  very  long 
list.  "But  put  this  on  the  white  page,"  says  she  to  the 
surging  father  inside  his  box  —  "I  loved  Alvan  ! "  A 
sentence  or  two  more  fetches  the  Alvanic  man  jumping 
out  of  the  priest:  and  so  closely  does  she  realize  it  that 
she  has  to  hunt  herself  into  a  corner  with  the  question, 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAITS  101 

whether  slie  shall  tell  him  she  guessed  him  to  be  no  other 
than  her  lover.  "How  could  you  expect  a  girl,  who  is 
not  a  Papist,  to  come  kneeling  here?  "  she  says.  And  he 
answers  with  no  matter  what  of  a  gallant  kind. 

In  this  manner  her  natural  effervescence  amused  her 
sorrowful  mind  while  gazing  from  her  chamber  window  at 
the  mountain  sides  across  the  valley,  where  tourists,  in  the 
autumnal  season,  sweep  up  and  down  like  a  tidal  river. 
She  had  ceased  to  weep;  she  had  outwept  the  colour  of 
her  eyes  and  the  consolation  of  weeping.  Dressed  in  black 
to  the  throat,  she  sat  and  waited  the  arrival  of  her  phan- 
tom friend,  the  baroness  —  that  angel !  who  proved  her 
goodness  in  consenting  to  be  the  friend  of  Alvan's  beloved, 
because  she  was  the  true  friend  of  Alvan !  How  cheap 
such  a  way  of  proving  goodness,  Clotilde  did  not  consider. 
She  wanted  it  so. 

The  mountain  heights  were  in  dusty  sunlight.  She  had 
seen  them  day  after  day  thinly  lined  on  the  dead  sky, 
inviting  thunder  and  doomed  to  sultriness.  She  looked 
on  the  garden  of  the  house,  a  desert  under  bee  and  butter- 
fly. Looking  beyond  the  garden  she  perceived  her  father 
on  the  glaring  road,  and  one  with  him,  the  sight  of  whom 
did  not  flush  her  cheek  or  spring  her  heart  to  a  throb, 
though  she  pitied  the  poor  boy:  — he  was  useless  to  her, 
utterly. 

Soon  her  Indian  Bacchus  was  in  the  room,  and  alone 
with  her,  and  at  her  feet.  Her  father  had  given  him 
hope.  He  came  bearing  eyes  that  were  like  hope's  own; 
and  kneeling,  kissing  her  hands,  her  knees,  her  hair,  he 
seemed  unaware  that  she  was  inanimate. 

There  was  nothing  imaginable  in  which  he  could  be  of 
use. 

He  was  only  another  dust-cloud  of  the  sultry  sameness. 
She  had  been  expecting  a  woman,  a  tempest  choral  with 
sky  and  mountain  and  valley-hollows,  as  the  overture  to 
Alvan's  appearance. 

But  he  roused  her.  With  Marko  she  had  never  felt  her 
cowardice,  and  his  passionately  beseeching,  trembling, 
"Will  you  have  me?"  called  up  the  tiger  in  the  girl;  in 
spite  of  pity  for  his  voice  she  retorted  on  her  parents: 
"Will   I   have  you?    I?    You  ask  me  what  is  my  will? 


102  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAKS 

It  sounds  oddly  from  you,  seeing  that  I  wrote  to  you  in 
Lucerne  what  I  would  have,  and  nothing  has  changed  in 
me  since  then,  nothing  !  My  feeling  for  him  is  unaltered, 
and  everything  you  have  heard  of  me  was  wrung  out  of 
me  by  my  unhappiness.  The  world  is  dead  to  me,  and 
all  in  it  that  is  not  Sigismund  Alvan.  To  you  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  speak  every  thought  of  my  soul,  and  I  tell  you 
the  world  and  all  it  has  is  dead  to  me,  even  my  parents 
—  I  hate  them." 

Marko  pressed  her  hands.  If  he  loved  her  slavishly,  it 
was  generously.  The  wild  thing  he  said  was  one  of  the 
frantic  leaps  of  generosity  in  a  heart  that  was  gone  to 
impulse:  "I  see  it,  they  have  martyrized  you.  I  know 
you  so  well,  Clotilde  !  So,  then,  come  to  me,  come  with 
me,  let  me  cherish  you.  I  will  take  you  and  rescue  you 
from  your  people,  and  should  it  be  your  positive  wish  to 
meet  Alvan  again,  I  myself  will  take  you  to  him,  and  then 
you  may  choose  between  us." 

The  generosity  was  evident.  There  was  nevertheless, 
to  a  young  woman  realizing  the  position  foreshadowed  by 
such  a  project,  the  suspicion  of  a  slavish  hope  nestling 
among  the  circumstances  in  the  background,  and  this  she 
was  taught  by  the  dangerous  emotion  of  gratitude  gaining 
on  her,  and  melting  her  to  him. 

She  too  had  a  slavish  hope  that  was  athirst  and  sinking, 
and  it  flew  at  the  throat  of  Marko 's,  eager  to  satiate  its 
vengeance  for  these  long  delays  in  the  destroying  of  a 
weaker. 

She  left  her  chair  and  cried:  "As  you  will.  What  is 
it  to  me?  Take  me,  if  you  please.  Take  that  glove;  it  is 
the  shape  of  my  hand.  You  have  as  much  of  me  as  is  there. 
My  life  is  gone.  You  or  another  !  But  take  this  warning 
and  my  oath  with  it.  I  swear  to  you,  that  wherever  I  see 
Sigismund  Alvan  I  go  straight  to  him,  though  the  way  be 
over  you,  all  of  you,  lying  dead  beneath  me." 

The  lift  of  incredulous  horror  in  Marko 's  large  black 
eyes  excited  her  to  a  more  savage  imagination :  "  Rejoice  ! 
I  should  rejoice  to  see  you,  all  of  you,  dead,  that  I  might 
walk  across  you  safe  from  disturbance  to  get  to  him  I 
love.  Be  under  no  delusion.  I  love  him  better  than  the 
lives  of  any  dear  to  me,  or  my  own.     I  am  his.     He  is  my 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  103 

faith,  my  worsliip.  I  am  true  to  him,  I  am,  I  am.  You 
force  my  hand  from  me,  you  take  this  miserable  body,  but 
my  soul  is  free  to  love  him  and  to  go  to  him  when  God 
gives  me  sight  of  him.  I  am  Al van's  eternally.  All  your 
laws  are  mockeries.  You,  and  my  people,  and  your  priests, 
and  your  law-makers,  are  shadows,  brain-vapours.  Let 
him  beckon  !  —  So  you  have  your  warning.  Do  what  I 
may,  I  cannot  be  called  untrue.  And  now  let  me  be;  I 
want  repose;  my  head  breaks;  I  have  been  on  the  rack 
and  I  am  in   pieces  ! .'' 

Marko  clung  to  her  hand,  said  she  was  terrible  and  piti- 
less, but  clung. 

The  hand  was  nerveless:  it  was  her  dear  hand.  Had 
her  tongue  been  more  venomous  in  wildness  than  the 
encounter  with  a  weaker  than  herself  made  it  be,  the 
holding  of  her  hand  would  have  been  his  antidote.  In 
him  there  was  love  for  two. 

Clotilde  allowed  him  to  keep  the  hand,  assuring  herself 
she  was  unconscious  he  did  so.  He  brought  her  peace,  he 
brought  her  old  throning  self  back  to  her,  and  he  was 
handsome  and  tame  as  a  leopard-skin  at  her  feet. 

If  she  was  doomed  to  reach  to  Alvan  through  him,  at 
least  she  had  warned  him.  The  vision  of  the  truthfulness 
of  her  nature  threw  a  celestial  wan  beam  on  her  guilty 
destiny. 

She  patted  his  head  and  bade  him  leave  her,  narrowing 
her  shoulders  on  the  breast  to  let  it  be  seen  that  the  dark 
household  within  was  locked  and  shuttered. 

He  went.  He  was  good,  obedient,  humane;  he  was 
generous,  exquisitely  bred;  he  brought  her  peace,  and  he 
had  been  warned.  It  is  difficult  in  affliction  to  think  of 
one  who  belongs  to  us  as  one  to  whom  we  owe  a  duty. 
The  unquestionably  sincere  and  devoted  lover  is  also  in 
his  candour  a  featureless  person;  and  though  we  would 
not  punish  him  for  his  goodness,  we  have  the  right  to 
anticipate  that  it  will  be  equal  to  every  trial.  Perhaps, 
for  the  sake  of  peace  .  .  .  after  warning  him  .  .  .  her 
meditations  tottered  in  dots. 

But  when  the  heart  hungers  behind  such  meditations, 
that  thinking  without  language  is  a  dangerous  habit;  for 
there  will  suddenly  come  a  dash  usurping  the  series  of 


104  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

tentative  dots,  which  is  nothing  other  than  the  dreadful 
thing  resolved  on,  as  of  necessity,  as  naturally  as  the 
adventurous  bow-legged  infant  pitches  back  from  an  excur- 
sion of  two  paces  to  mother's  lap;  and  not  much  less 
innocently  within  the  mind,  it  would  appear.  The  dash  is 
a  haven  reached  that  would  not  be  greeted  if  it  stood  out 
in  words.  Could  we  live  with  ourselves  letting  our  animal 
do  our  thinking  for  us  legibly?  We  live  with  ourselves 
agreeably  so  long  as  his  projects  are  phrased  in  his  primi- 
tive tongue,  even  though  we  have  clearly  apprehended 
what  he  means,  and  though  we  sufficiently  well  under- 
stand the  whither  of  our  destination  under  his  guidance. 
No  counsel  can  be  saner  than  that  the  heart  should  be 
bidden  to  speak  out  in  plain  verbal  speech  within  us.  For 
want  of  it,  Clotilde's  short  explorations  in  Dot-and-Dash- 
land  were  of  a  kind  to  terrify  her,  and  yet  they  seemed 
not  only  unavoidable,  but  foreshadowing  of  the  unavoidable 
to  come. 

Or  possibly  —  the  thought  came  to  her  —  Alvan  would 
keep  his  word,  and  save  her  from  worse  by  stepping  to  the 
altar  between  her  and  Marko,  there  calling  on  her  to 
decide  and  quit  the  prince;  and  his  presence  would  breathe 
courage  into  her  to  go  to  him.  It  set  her  looking  to  the 
altar  as  a  prospect  of  deliverance. 

Her  mother  could  not  fail  to  notice  a  change  in  Clotilde*s 
wintry  face  now  that  Marko  was  among  them;  her  infer- 
ence tallied  with  his  report  of  their  interview,  so  she  sup- 
posed the  girl  to  have  accepted  more  or  less  heartily 
Marko's  forgiveness.  For  him  the  girl's  eyes  were  soft 
and  kind;  her  gaze  was  through  the  eyelashes,  as  one 
seeing  a  dream  on  a  far  horizon.  Marko  spoke  of  her 
cheerfully,  and  was  happy  to  call  her  his  own,  but  would 
not  have  her  troubled 'by  any  ceremonial  talk  of  their 
engagement,  so  she  had  much  to  thank  him  for,  and  her 
consciousness  of  the  signal  instance  of  ingratitude  lying 
ahead  in  the  darkness,  like  a  house  mined  beneath  the 
smiling  slumberer,  made  her  eager  to  show  the  real  grate- 
fulness and  tenderness  of  her  feelings.  This  had  the 
appearance  of  renewed  affection ;  consequently  her  parents 
lost  much  of  their  fear  of  the  besieger  outside,  and  she 
was  removed  to  the  city. 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  105 

Two  parties  were  in  the  city,  one  favouring  Alvan,  and 
one  abhorring  the  audacious  Jew.  Together  they  managed 
to  spread  incredible  reports  of  his  doings,  which  required 
little  exaggeration  to  convince  an  enemy  that  he  was  a 
man  with  whom  hostility  could  not  be  left  to  sleep.  The 
General  heard  of  the  man's  pleading  his  cause  in  all  direc- 
tions to  get  pressure  put  upon  him,  showing  something 
like  a  devilish  persuasiveness,  Jew  and  demagogue  though 
he  was ;  for  there  seemed  to  be  a  feeling  abroad  that  the 
interview  this  howling  lover  claimed  with  Clotilde  ought 
to  be  granted.  The  latest  report  spoke  of  him  as  off  to 
the  General's  Court  for  an  audience  of  his  official  chief. 
General  von  Eiidiger  looked  to  his  defences,  and  he  had 
sufticient  penetration  to  see  that  the  weakest  point  of  them 
might  be  a  submissive  daughter. 

A  letter  to  Clotilde  from  the  baroness  was  brought  to 
the  house  by  a  messenger.  The  General  thought  over  it. 
The  letter  was  by  no  means  a  seductive  letter  for  a  young 
lady  to  receive  from  such  a  person,  yet  he  did  not  antici- 
pate the  whole  effect  it  would  produce  when  ultimately  he 
decided  to  give  it  to  her,  being  of  course  unaware  of  the 
noble  style  of  Clotilde's  address  to  the  baroness.  He 
stipulated  that  there  must  be  no  reply  to  it  except  through 
him,  and  Clotilde  had  the  coveted  letter  in  her  hands  at 
last.  Here  was  the  mediatrix  —  the  veritable  goddess 
with  the  sword  to  cut  the  knot !  Here  was  the  manifesta- 
tion of  Alvan ! 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


She  ran  out  to  the  shade  of  the  garden  walls  to  be  by 
herself  and  in  the  air,  and  she  read;  and  instantly  her 
own  letter  to  the  baroness  crashed  sentence  upon  sentence, 
in  retort,  springing  up  with  the  combative  instinct  of  a 
beast,  to  make  discord  of  the  stuff  she  read,  and  deride  it. 
Twice  she  went  over  the  lines  with  this  defensive  accom- 
paniment; then  they  laid  octopus-limbs  on  her.  The 
writing  struck  chill  as  a  glacier  cave.  Oh,  what  an  answer 
to  that  letter  of  fervid  respectfulness,  of  innocent  suppli- 


106  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

cation  for  maternal  affection,  for  some  degree  of  benignant 
friendship ! 

The  baroness  coldly  stated,  that  she  had  arrived  in  the 
city  to  do  her  best  in  assisting  to  arrange  matters,  which 
had  come  to  a  most  unfortunate  and  impracticable  pass. 
She  alluded  to  her  established  friendship  for  Alvan,  but 
it  was  chiefly  in  the  interests  of  Clotilde  that  the  latter 
was  requested  to  perceive  the  necessity  for  bringing  her 
relations  with  Dr.  Alvan  to  an  end  in  the  discreetest 
manner  now  possible  to  the  circumstances.  This,  the 
baroness  pursued,  could  only  be  done  by  her  intervention, 
and  her  friendship  for  Dr.  Alvan  had  caused  her  to  under- 
take the  little  agreeable  office.  For  which  purpose,  prom- 
ising her  an  exemption  from  anything  in  the  nature  of 
tragedy  scenes,  the  baroness  desired  Clotilde  to  call  on 
her  the  following  day  between  certain  specified  hours  of 
the  afternoon. 

That  was  all. 

The  girl  in  her  letter  to  the  baroness  had  constrained 
herself  to  write,  and  therefore  to  think,  in  so  beautiful  a 
spirit  of  ignorant  innocence,  that  the  vileness  of  an  answer 
thus  brutally  throwing  off  the  mask  of  personal  disin- 
terestedness appeared  to  her  both  an  abominable  piece  of 
cynicism  on  the  part  of  a  scandalous  old  w^oman,  and  an 
insulting  rejection  of  the  cover  of  decency  proposed  to  the 
creature  by  a  daisy-minded  maiden. 

She  scribbled  a  single  line  in  receipt  of  the  letter  and 
signed  her  initials. 

"The  woman  is  hateful!"  she  said  to  her  father;  she 
was  ready  to  agree  with  him  about  the  woman  and  Alvan. 
She  was  ashamed  to  have  hoped  anything  of  the  woman, 
and  stamped  down  her  disappointment  under  a  vehement 
indignation,  that  disfigured  the  man  as  well.  He  had  put 
the  matter  into  the  hands  of  this  most  detestable  of 
women,  to  settle  it  as  she  might  think  best!  He  and  she! 
—  the  miserable  old  thing  with  her  ancient  arts  and 
cajoleries  had  lured  him  back!  She  had  him  fast  again, 
in  spite  of  —  for  who  could  tell?  perhaps  by  reason  of  her 
dirty  habits:  she  smoked  dragoon  cigars!  All  day  she 
was  emitting  tobacco-smoke;  it  was  notorious,  Clotilde 
had  not  to  leara  i\-  from  her  father ;  but  now  she  saw  the 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  107 

filthy  rag  that  standard  of  female  independence  was  —  that 
petticoated  Unfeminine,  fouler  than  masculine !  Alvan 
preferred  the  lichen-draped  tree  to  the  sunny  flower,  it 
was  evident,  for  never  a  letter  from  Alvan  had  come  to 
her.  She  thought  in  wrath  nothing  but  the  thoughts  of 
wrath,  and  ran  her  wits  through  every  reasonable  reflec- 
tion like  a  lighted  brand  that  flings  its  colour,  if  not  fire, 
upon  surrounding  images.  Contempt  of  the  square-jawed 
withered  woman  was  too  great  for  Clotilde  to  have  a  sen- 
sation of  her  driving  jealousy  until  painful  glimpses  of 
the  man  made  jealousy  so  sharp  that  she  flew  for  refuge  to 
contempt  of  the  pair.  That  beldam  had  him  back:  she 
had  him  fast.  Oh !  let  her  keep  him  !  Was  he  to  be 
regretted  who  could  make  that  choice? 

Her  father  did  not  let  the  occasion  slip  to  speak  insist- 
ingly  as  the  world  opined  of  Alvan  and  his  baroness.  He 
forced  her  to  swallow  the  calumny,  and  draw  away  with 
her  family  against  herself  through  strong  disgust. 

Out  of  a  state  of  fire  Clotilde  passed  into  solid  frigidity. 
She  had  neither  a  throb  nor  a  passion.  Wishing  seemed 
to  her  senseless  as  life  was.  She  could  hear  without  a 
thrill  of  her  frame  that  Alvan  was  in  the  city,  without  a 
question  whether  it  was  true.  He  had  not  written,  and 
he  had  handed  her  over  to  the  baroness  !  She  did  not  ask 
herself  how  it  was  that  she  had  no  letter  from  him,  being 
afraid  to  think  about  it,  because,  if  a  letter  had  been  with- 
held by  her  father,  it  was  a  part  of  her  whipping ;  if  none 
had  been  written,  there  was  nothing  to  hope  for.  Her 
recent  humiliation  condemned  him  by  the  voice  of  her 
sufferings  for  his  failure  to  be  giant,  eagle,  angel,  or  any 
of  the  prodigious  things  he  had  taught  her  to  expect;  and 
as  he  had  thus  deceived  her,  the  glorious  lover  she  had 
imaged  in  her  mind  was  put  aside  with  some  of  the  angry 
disdain  she  bestowed  upon  the  woman  by  whom  she  had 
been  wounded.  He  ceased  to  be  a  visioned  Alvan,  and 
became  an  obscurity;  her  principal  sentiment  in  relation 
to  him  was,  that  he  threatened  her  peace.  But  for  him 
she  would  never  have  been  taught  to  hate  her  parents ;  she 
would  have  enjoyed  the  quiet  domestic  evenings  with  her 
people,  when  Marko  sang,  and  her  sisters  knitted,  and 
the    betrothed    sister  wore  a  look  very  enviable  in  the 


108  THE  TKAGIC   COIHEDIANS 

abstract;  she  would  be  seeing  a  future  instead  of  a  black 
iron  gate  !  But  for  him  she  certainly  would  never  have 
had  that  letter  from  the  baroness  ! 

On  the  morning  after  the  information  of  Alvan's  return, 
her  father,  who  deserved  credit  as  a  tactician,  came  to  her 
to  say  that  Alvan  had  sent  to  demand  his  letters  and 
presents.  The  demand  was  unlike  what  her  stunned  heart 
recollected  of  Alvan;  but  a  hint  that  the  baroness  was 
behind  it,  and  that  a  refusal  would  bring  the  baroness 
down  on  her  with  another  piece  of  insolence,  was  effective. 
She  dealt  out  the  letters,  arranged  the  presents,  made  up 
the  books,  pamphlets,  trinkets,  amulet  coins,  lock  of  black 
hair,  and  worn  post-marked  paper  addressed  in  his  hand  to 
Clotilde  von  Rtidiger,  carefully;  and  half  as  a  souvenir, 
half  with  the  forlorn  yearning  of  the  look  of  lovers  when 
they  break  asunder  —  or  of  one  of  them  —  she  signed  inside 
the  packet  not  "Clotilde,"  but  the  gentlest  title  he  had 
bestowed  on  her,  trusting  to  the  pathos  of  the  word 
"child  "  to  tell  him  that  she  was  enforced  and  still  true,  if 
he  should  be  interested  in  knowing  it.  Weak  souls  are 
much  moved  by  having  the  pathos  on  their  side.  They 
are  consoled  too. 

Time  passed,  whole  days:  the  tender  reminder  had  no 
effect  on  him  !  It  had  been  her  last  appeal :  she  reflected 
that  she  had  really  felt  when  he  had  not  been  feeling  at 
all :  and  this  marks  a  division. 

She  was  next  requested  to  write  a  letter  to  Alvan,  sig- 
nifying his  release  by  the  notification  of  her  engagement 
to  Prince  Marko.  She  was  personally  to  deliver  it  to  a 
gentleman  who  was  of  neither  party,  and  who  would  give 
her  a  letter  from  Alvan  in  exchange,  which,  while  assur- 
ing the  gentleman  she  was  acting  with  perfect  freedom, 
she  was  to  be  under  her  oath  not  to  read,  and  dutifully  to 
hand  to  Marko,  her  betrothed.  Her  father  assumed  the 
fact  of  her  renewed  engagement  to  the  prince,  as  her 
whole  family  did;  strangely,  she  thought:  it  struck  her 
as  a  fatality.  He  said  that  Alvan  was  working  him  great 
mischief,  doing  him  deadly  injury  in  his  position,  and 
for  no  just  reason,  inasmuch  as  he  —  a  bold,  bad  man 
striving  to  ruin  the  family  on  a  point  of  pride  —  had 
declared  that  he  simply  considered  himself  bound  in  honour 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAJS^S  109 

to  her,  only  a  little  doubtful  of  her  independent  action  at 
present;  and  a  release  of  him,  accompanied  by  her  plain 
statement  of  her  being  under  no  compulsion,  voluntarily 
the  betrothed  of  another,  would  solve  the  difficulty.  A 
certain  old  woman,  it  seemed,  was  anxious  to  have  him 
formally  released. 

With  the  usual  dose  for  such  a  patient,  of  cajoleries  and 
threats,  the  General  begged  her  to  comply,  pulling  the 
hands  he  squeezed  in  a  way  to  strongly  emphasize  his 
affectionate  entreaty. 

She  went  straight  to  Marko,  consenting  that  he  should 
have  Alvan's  letter  unopened  (she  cared  not  to  read  it,  she 
said),  on  his  promise  to  give  it  up  to  her  within  a  stated 
period.  There  was  a  kind  of  prohibited  pleasure,  sweet 
acid,  catching  discord,  in  the  idea  of  this  lover's  keeping 
the  forbidden  thing  she  could  ask  for  when  she  was  curious 
about  the  other,  which  at  present  she  was  not ;  dead  rather ; 
anxious  to  please  her  parents,  and  determined  to  be  no 
rival  of  the  baroness.  Marko  promised  it  readily,  adding : 
"Only  let  the  storm  roll  over,  that  we  may  have  more 
liberty,  and  I  myself,  when  we  two  are  free,  will  lead  you 
to  Alvan,  and  leave  it  to  you  to  choose  between  us.  Your 
happiness,  beloved,  is  my  sole  thought.  Submit  for  the 
moment."  He  spoke  sweetly,  with  his  dearest  look,  touch- 
ing her  luxurious  nature  with  a  belief  that  she  could 
love  him;  untroubled  by  another,  she  could  love  and  be 
true  to  him:  her  maternal  inner  nature  yearned  to  the 
frail-bodied  youth. 

She  made  a  comparison  in  her  mind  of  Alvan's  love 
and  Marko's,  and  of  the  lives  of  the  two  men.  There  was 
no  grisly  baroness  attached  to  the  prince's  life. 

She  wrote  the  letter  to  Alvan,  feeling  in  the  words  that 
said  she  was  plighted  to  Prince  Marko,  that  she  said,  and 
clearly  said,  the  baroness  is  now  relieved  of  a  rivals  and 
may  take  you !  She  felt  it  so  acutely  as  to  feel  that  she 
said  nothing  else. 

Severances  are  accomplished  within  the  heart  stroke  by 
stroke;  within  the  craven's  heart  each  new  step  resulting 
from  a  blow  is  temporarily  an  absolute  severance.  Her 
letter  to  Alvan  written,  she  thought  not  tenderly  of  him 
but  of  the  prince,  who  had  always  loved  a  young  woman. 


110  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

and  was  unhampered  by  an  old  one.  The  composition  of 
the  letter,  and  the  sense  that  the  thing  was  done,  made 
her  stony  to  Alvan. 

On  the  introduction  of  Colonel  von  Tresten,  whose  name 
she  knew,  but  was  dull  to  it,  she  delivered  him  her  letter 
with  unaffected  composure,  received  from  him  Alvan's  in 
exchange,  left  the  room  as  if  to  read  it,  and  after  giving 
it  unopened  to  Marko,  composedly  reappeared  before  the 
colonel  to  state,  that  the  letter  could  make  no  difference, 
and  all  was  to  be  as  she  had  written  it. 

The  colonel  bowed  stiffly. 

It  would  have  comforted  her  to  have  been  allowed  to 
say :  "  I  cease  to  be  the  rival  of  that  execrable  harridan  !  " 

The  delivery  of  so  formidable  a  cat-screech  not  being 
possible,  she  stood  in  an  attitude  of  mild  resignation, 
revolving  thoughts  of  her  father's  praises  of  his  noble 
daughter,  her  mother's  kiss,  the  caresses  of  her  sisters, 
and  the  dark  bright  eyes  of  Marko,  the  peace  of  the 
domestic  circle.  This  was  her  happiness !  And  still 
there  was  time,  still  hope  for  Alvan  to  descend  and  cut 
the  knot.  She  conceived  it  slowly,  with  some  flush  of 
the  brain  like  a  remainder  of  fever,  but  no  throbs  of  her 
pulses.  She  had  been  swayed  to  act  against  him  by  tales 
which  in  her  heart  she  did  not  credit  exactly,  therefore  did 
not  take  within  herself,  though  she  let  them  influence  her 
by  the  goad  of  her  fears  and  angers ;  and  these  she  could 
conjure  up  at  will  for  the  defence  of  her  conduct,  aware  of 
their  shallowness,  and  all  the  while  trusting_  him  to  come 
in  the  end  and  hear  her  reproaches  for  his  delay.  He 
seemed  to  her  now  to  have  the  character  of  a  storm  out- 
side a  household  wrapped  in  comfortable  monotony.  Her 
natural  spiritedness  detested  the  monotony,  her  craven 
soul  fawned  for  the  comfort.  After  her  many  recent 
whippings  the  comfort  was  immensely  desirable,  but  a 
glance  at  the  monotony  gave  it  the  look  of  a  burial,  and 
standing  in  her  attitude  of  resignation  under  Colonel  von 
Tresten's  hard  military  stare  she  could  have  shrieked  for 
Alvan  to  come,  knowing  that  she  would  have  cowered  and 
trembled  at  the  scene  following  his  appearance.  Yet  she 
would  have  gone  to  him ;  without  any  doubt  his  presence 
and  the  sense  of  his  greater  power  declared  by  his  coming 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIAl^S  111 

would  have  lifted  her  over  to  him.  The  part  of  her  nature 
adoring  storminess  wanted  only  a  present  champion  to  out- 
weigh the  other  part  which  cuddled  security.  Colonel 
von  Tresten,  however,  was  very  far  from  offering  himself 
in  such  a  shape  to  a  girl  that  had  jilted  the  friend  he  loved, 
insulted  the  woman  he  esteemed;  and  he  stood  there  like 
a  figure  of  soldierly  complacency  in  marble.  Her  pencilled 
acknowledgment  of  the  baroness's  letter,  and  her  reply  to 
it  almost  as  much,  was  construed  as  an  intended  insult  to 
that  lady,  whose  champion  Tresten  was.  He  had  departed 
before  Clotilde  heard  a  step. 

Immediately  thereupon  it  came  to  her  mind  that  Tresten 
was  one  of  Alvan's  bosom  friends.  How,  then,  could  he 
be  of  neither  party?  And  her  father  spoke  of  him  as  an 
upright  rational  man,  who,  although,  strangely  enough,  he 
entertained,  as  it  appeared,  something  like  a  profound 
reverence  for  the  baroness,  could  see  and  confess  the 
downright  impossibility  of  the  marriage  Alvan  proposed. 
Tresten,  her  father  said,  talked  of  his  friend  Alvan  as 
wild  and  eccentric,  but  now  becoming  convinced  that  such 
a  family  as  hers  could  never  tolerate  him  —  considering 
his  age,  his  birth,  his  blood,  his  habits,  his  politics,  his 
private  entanglements  and  moral  reputation,  it  was  partly 
hinted. 

She  shuddered  at  this  false  Tresten.  He  and  the  pro- 
fessor might  be  strung  together  for  examples  of  perfidy  I 
His  reverence  of  the  baroness  gave  his  cold  blue  eyes  the 
iciness  of  her  loathed  letter.  Alvan,  she  remembered, 
used  to  exalt  him  among  the  gallantest  of  the  warriors 
dedicating  their  swords  to  freedom.  The  dedication  of 
the  sword,  she  felt  sure,  was  an  accident:  he  was  a  man  of 
blood.  And  naturally,  she  must  be  hated  by  the  man 
reverencing  the  baroness.  If  ever  man  had  executioner 
stamped  on  his  face,  it  was  he  !  Like  the  professor,  nay, 
like  Alvan  himself,  he  would  not  see  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  tyranny:  none  of  her  signs  would  they  see. 
They  judged  of  her  by  her  inanimate  frame  in  the  hands 
of  her  torturers  breaking  her  on  the  wheel.  She  called  to 
mind  a  fancy  that  she  had  looked  at  Tresten  out  of  her 
deadness  earnestly  for  just  one  instant:  more  than  an 
instant  she  could  not,  beneath  her  father's  vigilant  watch 


112  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

and  into  those  repellant  cold  blue  butcher  eyes.  Tresten 
might  clearly  have  understood  the  fleeting  look.  What 
were  her  words  !  what  her  deeds  !  The  look  was  the  truth 
revealed  —  her  soul.  It  begged  for  life  like  an  infant; 
and  the  man's  face  was  an  iron  rock  in  reply  !  No  wonder 
—  he  worshipped  the  baroness  !  So  great  was  Clotilde's 
hatred  of  him  that  it  overflooded  the  image  of  Alvan,  who 
called  him  friend,  and  deputed  him  to  act  as  friend.  Such 
blindness,  weakness,  folly,  on  the  part  of  one  of  Alvan's 
pretensions,  incurred  a  shade  of  her  contempt.  She  had 
not  ever  thought  of  him  coldly:  hitherto  it  would  have 
seemed  a  sacrilege;  but  now  she  said  definitely,  the  friend 
of  Tresten  cannot  be  the  man  I  supposed  him  !  and  she 
ascribed  her  capacity  for  sayiug  it,  and  for  perceiving 
and  adding  up  Alvan's  faults  of  character,  to  the  freezing 
she  had  taken  from  that  most  antipathetic  person.  She 
confessed  to  sensations  of  spite  which  would  cause  her  to 
reject  and  spurn  even  his  pleadings  for  Alvan,  if  they  were 
imaginable  as  actual.  Their  not  being  imaginable  allowed 
her  to  indulge  her  naughtiness  harmlessly,  for  the  grati- 
fication of  the  idea  of  wounding  some  one,  though  it  were 
her  lover,  connected  with  this  Tresten. 

The  letter  of  the  baroness  and  the  visit  of  the  woman's 
admirer  had  vitiated  Clotilde's  blood.  She  was  not  only 
not  mistress  of  her  thoughts,  she  was  undirected  either  in 
thinking  or  wishing  by  any  desires,  except  that  the  people 
about  her  should  caress  and  warm  her,  until,  with  no  gaze 
backward,  she  could  say  good-bye  to  them,  full  of  mean- 
ing as  a  good-bye  to  the  covered  grave,  as  unreluctantly  as 
the  swallow  quits  her  eaves-nest  in  autumn:  and  they 
were  to  learn  that  they  were  chargeable  with  the  sequel  of 
the  history.  There  would  be  a  sequel,  she  was  sure,  if  it 
came  only  to  punish  them  for  the  cruelty  which  thwarted 
her  timid  anticipation  of  it  by  pressing  on  her  natural 
instinct  at  all  costs  to  bargain  for  an  escape  from  pain,  and 
making  her  simulate  contentment  to  cheat  her  muffled 
wound  and  them. 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  113 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

His  love  meantime  was  the  mission  and  the  burden  of 
Alvan,  and  he  was  not  ashamed  to  speak  of  it  and  plead 
for  it;  and  the  pleading  was  not  done  troubadourishly,  in 
soft  flute-notes,  as  for  easement  of  tuneful  emotions  be- 
seeching sympathy.  He  was  liker  to  a  sturdy  beggar 
demanding  his  crust,  to  support  life,  of  corporations  that 
can  be  talked  into  admitting  the  rights  of  man;  and  he 
vollied  close  logical  argumentation,  on  the  basis  of  the 
laws,  in  defence  of  his  most  natural  hunger,  thunder  in 
his  breast  and  bright  new  heavenly  morning  alternating  or 
clashing  while  the  electric  wires  and  post  smote  him  with 
evil  tidings  of  Clotilde,  and  the  success  of  his  efforts 
caught  her  back  to  him.  Daily  many  times  he  reached  to 
her  and  lost  her,  had  her  in  his  arms  and  his  arms  with- 
ered with  emptiness.  The  ground  he  won  quaked  under 
him.  All  the  evidence  opposed  it,  but  he  was  in  action, 
and  his  reason  swore  that  he  had  her  fast.  He  had  seen 
and  felt  his  power  over  her;  his  reason  told  him  by  what 
had  been  that  it  must  be.  Could  he  doubt?  He  battled 
for  his  reason.  Doubt  was  an  extinguishing  wave,  and  he 
clung  to  his  book  of  the  Law,  besieging  Church  and  State 
with  it,  pointing  to  texts  of  the  law  which  proved  her  free 
to  choose  her  lord  and  husband  for  herself,  expressing  his 
passionate  love  by  his  precise  interpretation  of  the  law: 
and  still  with  the  cold  sentience  gaining  on  him,  against 
the  current  of  his  tumultuous  blood  and  his  hurried  intel- 
ligence, of  her  being  actually  what  he  had  named  her  in 
moments  of  playful  vision  —  slippery,  a  serpent,  a  wind- 
ing hare;  with  the  fear  that  she  might  slip  from  him, 
betray,  deny  him,  deliver  him  to  ridicule,  after  he  had 
won  his  way  to  her  over  every  barrier.  During  his  proudest 
exultations  in  success,  when  his  eyes  were  sparkling,  there 
was  a  wry  twitch  inward  upon  his  heart  of  hearts. 

But  if  she  was  a  hare,  he  was  a  hunter,  little  inclining 
to  the  chase  now  for  mere  physical  recreation.  She  had 
roused  the  sportsman's  passion  as  well  as  the  man's;  he 
meant  to  hunt  her  down,  and  was  not   more  scrupulous 

8 


114  THE  TRAGIC   COINIEDIANS 

than  our  ancient  hunters,  who  hunted  for  a  meal  and 
hunted  to  kill,  with  none  of  the  later  hesitations  as  to 
circumventing,  trapping,  snaring  by  devices,  and  the 
preservation  of  the  animal's  coat  spotless.  Let  her  be 
lured  from  her  home,  or  plucked  from  her  home,  and  if 
reluctant,  disgraced,  that  she  may  be  dependent  utterly 
on  the  man  stooping  to  pick  her  up !  He  was  equal  to  the 
projecting  of  a  scheme  socially  infamous,  with  such  fanati- 
cal intensity  did  the  thought  of  his  losing  the  woman 
harass  him,  and  the  torrent  of  his  passion  burst  restraint 
to  get  to  her  to  enfold  her  —  this  in  the  same  hour  of  the 
original  wild  monster's  persistent  and  sober  exposition  of 
the  texts  of  the  law  with  the  voice  of  a  cultivated  modern 
gentleman;  and,  let  it  be  said,  with  a  modern  gentleman's 
design  to  wed  a  wife  in  honour.  All  means  were  to  be 
tried.  His  eye  burned  on  his  prize,  mindless  of  what  she 
was  dragged  through,  if  there  was  resistance,  or  whether 
by  the  hair  of  her  head  or  her  skirts,  or  how  she  was 
obtained.  His  interpretation  of  the  law  was  for  the 
powers  of  earth,  and  other  plans  were  to  propitiate  the 
powers  under  the  earth,  and  certain  distempered  groanings 
wrenched  from  him  at  intervals  he  addressed  (after  they 
were  out  of  him,  reflectively)  to  the  powers  above,  so  that 
nothing  of  him  should  be  lost  which  might  get  aid  of 
anything  mundane,   infernal,   or  celestial. 

Thus  is  it  when  Venus  bites  a  veritable  ancient  male. 
She  puts  her  venom  in  a  magnificent  beast,  not  a  pathetic 
Phaedra.  She  does  it  rarely,  for  though  to  be  loved  by  a 
bitten  giant  is  one  of  the  dreams  of  woman,  the  considerate 
Mother  of  Love  knows  how  needful  it  is  to  protect  the 
sentiment  of  the  passion  and  save  them  from  an  exhibition 
of  the  fires  of  that  dragon's  breath.  Do  they  not  fly 
shrieking  when  they  behold  it?  Barely  are  they  able  to 
read  of  it.  Men,  too,  accustomed  to  minor  doses  of  the 
goddess,  which  moderate,  soften,  counteract,  instead  of 
inflicting  the  malady,  abhor  and  have  no  brotherhood  with 
its  turbulent  victim. 

It  was  justly  matter  for  triumph,  due  to  an  extraordinary 
fervour  of  pleading  upon  a  plain  statement  of  the  case, 
that  Alvan  should  return  from  his  foray  bringing  with 
him  an  emissary  deputed  by  General  von  Ktidiger's  official 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAKS  115 

chief  to  see  that  the  young  lady,  so  passionately  pursued 
by  the  foremost  of  his  time  in  political  genius  and  oratory, 
was  not  subjected  to  parental  tyranny,  but  stood  free  to 
exercise  her  choice.  Of  the  few  who  would  ever  have 
thought  of  attempting,  a  diminished  number  would  have 
equalled  that  feat.  Alvan  was  no  vain  boaster;  he  could 
gain  the  ears  of  grave  men  as  well  as  mobs  and  women. 
The  interview  with  Clotilde  was  therefore  assured  to  him, 
and  the  distracting  telegrams  and  letters  forwarded  to  him 
by  Tresten  during  his  absence  were  consequently  stabs 
already  promising  to  heal.  They  were  brutal  stabs:  her 
packet  of  his  letters  and  presents  on  his  table  made  them 
bleed  afresh,  and  the  odd  scrawl  of  the  couple  of  words  on 
the  paper  set  him  wondering  at  the  imbecile  irony  of  her 
calling  herself  "  The  child  "  in  accompaniment  to  such  an 
act,  for  it  reminded  him  of  his  epithet  for  her,  while  it 
dealt  him  a  tremendous  blow;  it  seemed  senselessly 
malign,  perhaps  flippant,  as  she  could  be,  he  knew.  She 
could  be  anything  weak  and  shallow  when  out  of  his 
hands;  she  had  recently  proved  it:  still,  in  view  of  the 
interview,  and  on  the  tide  of  his  labours  to  come  to  that 
wished  end,  he  struck  his  breast  to  brave  himself  with  a 
good  hopeful  spirit.     "  Once  mine  !  "  he  said. 

Moreover,  to  the  better  account,  Clotilde' s  English  friend 
had  sent  him  the  lines  addressed  to  her,  in  which  the 
writer  dwelt  on  her  love  of  him  with  a  whimper  of  the 
voice  of  love.  That  was  previous  to  her  perjury :  by  little, 
by  a  day  —  eighteen  hours.  How  lurid  a  satire  was  flung 
on  events  by  the  proximity  of  the  dates  !  But  the  close- 
ness of  the  time  between  this  love-crooning  and  the  deny- 
ing of  him  pointed  to  a  tyrannous  intervention.  One 
could  detect  it.  Full  surely  the  poor  craven  was  being 
tyrannized  and  tutored  to  deny  him  !  though  she  was  a 
puss  of  the  fields  too,  as  the  mounted  sportsman  was  not 
unwilling  to  think. 

Before  visiting  his  Mentor,  Alvan  applied  for  an  audience 
of  General  von  Rildiger,  who  granted  it  at  once  to  a  man 
coming  so  well  armed  to  claim  the  privilege.  Tresten 
walked  part  of  the  way  to  the  General's  house  with  him, 
and  then  turned  aside  to  visit  the  baroness. 

Lucie,  Baroness  von  Crefeldt,  was  one  of  those  persons 


116  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

who,  after  a  probationary  term  in  the  character  of  woman, 
have  become  men,  but  of  whom  offended  man,  amazed  by 
the  flowering  up  of  that  hard  rough  jaw  from  the  tender 
blooming  promise  of  a  petticoat,  finds  it  impossible  to 
imagine  they  had  once  on  a  sweet  Spring  time  the  sex's 
gentleness  and  charm  of  aspect.  Mistress  Flanders, 
breeched  and  hatted  like  a  man,  pulling  at  the  man's  short 
pipe  and  heartily  invoking  frouzy  deities,  committing  a 
whole  sackful  of  unfeminine  etceetera,  is  an  impenetrable 
wall  to  her  maiden  past;  yet  was  there  an  opening  day 
when  nothing  of  us  moustached  her.  She  was  a  clear- 
faced  girl  and  mother  of  young  blushes  before  the  years 
were  at  their  work  of  transformation  upon  her  counte- 
nance and  behind  her  bosom.  The  years  were  rough 
artists :  perhaps  she  was  combative,  and  fought  them  for 
touching  her  ungallantly ;  and  that  perhaps  was  her  first 
manly  step.  Baroness  Lucie  was  of  high  birth,  a  wife 
openly  maltreated,  a  woman  of  breeding,  but  with  a  man's 
head,  capable  of  inspiring  man-like  friendships,  and  of 
entertaining  them.  She  was  radically -minded,  strongly 
of  the  Eadical  profession  of  faith,  and  a  correspondent  of 
revolutionary  chiefs ;  both  the  trusted  adviser  and  devoted 
slave  of  him  whose  future  glorious  career  she  measured  by 
his  abilities.  Rumour  blew  out  a  candle  and  left  the  wick 
to  smoke  in  relation  to  their  former  intercourse.  The 
Philistines  revenged  themselves  on  an  old  aristocratic 
Radical  and  a  Jew  demagogue  with  the  weapon  that  scandal 
hands  to  virtue.  They  are  virtuous  or  nothing,  and  they 
must  show  that  they  are  so  when  they  can;  and  best  do 
they  show  it  by  publicly  dishonouring  the  friendship  of  a 
man  and  a  woman;  for  to  be  in  error  in  malice  does  not 
hurt  them,  but  they  profoundly  feel  that  they  are  fools  if 
they  are  duped. 

She  was  aware  of  the  recent  course  of  events;  she  had, 
as  she  protested,  nothing  to  accuse  herself  of,  and  she 
could  hardly  part  her  lips  without  a  self-exculpation. 

"  It  will  fall  on  me  !  "  she  said  to  Tresten,  in  her  em- 
phatic tone.  "  He  will  have  his  interview  with  the  girl. 
He  will  subdue  the  girl.  He  will  manacle  himself  in  the 
chains  he  makes  her  wear.  She  will  not  miss  her  chance ! 
I  am  the  object  of  her  detestation.     I  am  the  price  paid 


THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS  IIT 

for  their  reconcilemeat.  She  will  seize  her  opportunity 
to  vilipend  me,  and  I  shall  be  condemned  by  the  kind  of 
court-martial  which  hurries  over  the  forms  of  a  trial  to 
sign  the  execution-warrant  that  makes  it  feel  like  justice. 
You  will  see.  She  cannot  forgive  me  for  not  pretending 
to  enter  into  her  enthusiasm.  She  will  make  him  believe 
I  conspired  against  her.  Men  in  love  are  children  with 
their  mistresses  —  the  greatest  of  them;  their  heads  are 
under  the  woman's  feet.  What  have  I  not  done  to  aid 
him  !  At  his  instance,  I  went  to  the  archbishop,  to  im- 
plore one  of  the  princes  of  the  Church  for  succour.  I  knelt 
to  an  ecclesiastic.  I  did  a  ludicrous  and  a  shameful  thing, 
knowing  it  in  advance  to  be  a  barren  farce.  I  obeyed  his 
wish.  The  tale  will  be  laughable.  I  obeyed  him.  I 
would  not  have  it  on  my  conscience  that  the  commission 
of  any  deed  ennomic,  however  unwonted,  was  refused  by 
me  to  serve  Alvan.  You  are  my  witness,  Tresten,  that  for 
a  young  woman  of  common  honesty  I  was  ready  to  pack 
and  march.  Qualities  of  mind  —  mind  !  They  were  out 
of  the  question.  He  had  a  taste  for  a  wife.  If  he  had 
hit  on  a  girl  commonly  honest,  she  might  not  have  harmed 
him — the  contrary;  cut  his  talons.  What  is  this  girl? 
Exactly  what  one  might  be  sure  his  appreciation,  in 
woman-flesh,  would  lead  him  to  fix  on;  a  daughter  of  the 
Philistines,  naturally,  and  precisely  the  one  of  all  on  earth 
likely  to  confound  him  after  marriage  as  she  has  played 
fast  and  loose  with  him  before  it.  He  has  never  under- 
stood womeu  —  cannot  read  them.  Could  a  girl  like  that 
keep  a  secret?  She's  a  Cressida  —  a  creature  of  every 
camp!  Not  an  idea  of  the  cause  he  is  vowed  to!  not  a 
sentiment  in  harmony  with  it!  She  is  viler  than  any  of 
those  Berlin  light  o'  loves  on  the  eve  of  Jena.  Stable  as 
a  Viennese  dancing  slut  home  from  Mariazell!  This  is 
the  girl  —  transparent  to  the  whole  world!  But  his  heart 
is  on  her,  and  he  must  have  her,  I  suppose ;  and  I  shall 
have  to  bear  her  impertinences,  or  sign  my  demission  and 
cease  to  labour  for  the  cause  —  at  least  in  conjunction  with 
Alvan.  And  how  otherwise?  He  is  the  life  of  it,  and  I 
am  doomed  to  uselessness." 

Tresten  nodded  a  protesting  assent. 

"Not  quite  so  bad,"  he  said,  with  the  encouraging  smile 


118  THE  TRAGIC  COMEBIAKS 

which  would  persuade  a  friend  to  put  away  bilious  visions. 
"Of  the  two,  if  you  two  are  divisible,  we  could  better 
dispense  with  him.  She  ^11  slip  him,  she  ^s  an  eel.  I 
have  seen  eels  twine  on  a  prong  of  the  fork  that  prods 
them;  but  she  's  an  actress,  a  slippery  one  through  and 
through,  with  no  real  embrace  in  her,  not  even  a  common 
muscular  contraction.  Of  every  camp !  as  you  say.  She 
was  not  worth  carrying  off.  I  consented  to  try  it  to  quiet 
him.  He  sets  no  bounds  to  his  own  devotion  to  friendship, 
and  we  must  take  pattern  by  him.     It 's  a  mad  love." 

"A  Titan's  love!"  the  baroness  exclaimed,  groaning. 
"The  woman!  —  no  matter  how  or  at  what  cost!  I  can 
admire  that  primal  barbarism  of  a  great  man's  passion, 
which  counts  for  nothing  the  stains  and  accidents  fraught 
with  extinction  for  it  to  meaner  men.  It  reads  ill,  it 
sounds  badly,  but  there  is  grand  stuff  in  it.  See  the  royalty 
of  the  man,  for  whom  no  degradation  of  the  woman  can 
be,  so  long  as  it  brings  her  to  him !  He  —  that  great  he  — 
covers  all.  He  burns  her  to  ashes,  and  takes  the  flame  — 
the  pure  spirit  of  her  —  to  himself.  Were  men  like  him  ! 
—  they  would  have  less  to  pardon.  We  must,  as  I  have 
ever  said,  be  morally  on  alpine  elevations  to  comprehend 
Alvan;  he  is  Mont  Blanc  above  his  fellows.  Do  not  ask 
him  to  be  considerate  of  her.  She  has  planted  him  in  a 
storm,  and  the  bigger  the  mountain,  the  more  savage, 
monstrous,  cruel  —  yes,  but  she  blew  up  the  tourmente  ! 
That  girl  is  the  author  of  his  madness.  It  is  the  snake's 
nature  of  the  girl  which  distracts  him;  she  is  in  his  blood. 
Had  she  come  to  me,  I  would  have  helped  her  to  cure 
him;  or  had  you  succeeded  in  carrying  her  off,  I  would 
have  stood  by  their  union ;  or  were  she  a  different  creature, 
and  not  the  shifty  thing  she  is,  I  could  desire  him  to  win 
her.  A  peasant  girl,  a  workman's  daughter,  a  trades- 
man's, a  professional  singer,  actress,  artist  —  I  would  have 
given  my  hand  to  one  of  these  in  good  faith,  thankful  to 
her  !  As  it  is,  I  have  acted  in  obedience  to  his  wishes, 
without  idle  remonstrances  —  I  know  him  too  well;  and 
with  as  much  cordiality  as  I  could  put  into  an  evil  service. 
She  will  drag  him  down,  down,  Tresten !  " 

"  They  are  not  joined  yet,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  She  has  him  by  the  worst  half  of  him.    Her  correspond- 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  119 

ence  with  me  —  her  letter  to  excuse  her  insolence,  which 
she  does  like  a  prim  chit  —  throws  a  light  on  the  girl  she 
is.  She  will  set  him  aiming  at  power  to  trick  her  out  in 
the  decorations.  She  will  not  keep  him  to  his  labours  to 
consolidate  the  power.  She  will  pervert  the  aesthetic  in. 
him,  through  her  hold  on  his  material  nature,  his  vanity, 
his  luxuriousness.  She  is  one  of  the  young  women  who 
begin  timidly,  and  when,  they  see  that  they  enjoy  compara- 
tive impunity,  grow  intrepid  in  dissipation,  and  that  pall- 
ing, they  are  ravenously  ambitious.  She  will  drive  him  at 
his  mark  before  the  time  is  ripe  —  ruin  him.  He  is  a  Titan, 
not  a  god,  though  god-like  he  seems  in  comparison  with 
men.  He  would  be  fleshly  enough  in  any  hands.  This 
girl  will  drain  him  of  all  his  nobler  fire.'' 

"She  shows  mighty  little  of  the  inclination,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  To  you.  But  when  they  come  together  ?  I  know  his 
voice  ! " 

The  colonel  protested  his  doubts  of  their  coming  together. 

"  Ultimately  ?  "  the  baroness  asked,  and  brooded.  "  But 
she  will  have  to  see  him  ;  and  then  will  she  resist  him  ?  I 
shall  change  one  view  of  her  if  she  does." 

"She  will  shirk  the  interview,"  Tresten  remarked. 
"  Supposing  they  meet :  I  don't  think  much  will  come  of  it, 
unless  they  meet  on  a  field,  and  he  has  an  hour's  grace  to 
catch  her  up  and  be  off  with  her.  She  *s  as  calm  as  the 
face  of  a  clock,  and  wags  her  Yes  and  No  about  him  just  as 
unconcernedly  as  a  clock's  pendulum.  I  've  spoken  to  many 
a  sentinel  outpost  who  was  n't  deader  on  the  subject  in 
monosyllables  than  mademoiselle.  She  has  a  military 
erectness,  and  answers  you  and  looks  you  straight  at  the 
eyes,  perfectly  unabashed  by  you  seeing  '  the  girl  she  is,'  as 
you  say.  She  looked  at  me  downright  defying  me  to  de- 
spise her.  Alvan  has  been  tricked  by  her  colour:  she's 
icy.  She  has  no  passion.  She  acts  up  to  him  when  they  're 
together,  and  that  deceives  him.  I  doubt  her  having  blood 
—  there  's  no  heat  in  it,  if  she  has." 

"And  he  cajoled  Count  Hollinger  to  send  an  envoy  to 
see  him  righted!"  the  baroness  ejaculated.  "Hollinger  is 
not  a  sentimental  person,  I  assure  you,  and  not  likely  to 
have  taken  a  step  apparently  hostile  to  the  Ktidigers,  if  he 


120  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

had  not  been  extraordinarily  shaken   by   Alvan.     What 
character  of  man  is  this  Dr.  Storchel  ?  " 

Tresten  described  Count  Hollinger's  envoy,  so  quaintly 
deputed  to  act  the  part  of  legal  umpire  in  a  family  business, 
as  a  mild  man  of  law  with  no  ideas  or  interests  outside  the 
law ;  spectacled,  nervous,  formal,  a  stranger  to  the  passions ; 
and  the  baroness  was  amused  to  hear  of  Storchel  and 
Alvan's  placid  talk  together  upon  themes  of  law,  succeeded 
by  the  little  advocate's  bewildered  fright  at  one  of  Alvan's 
gentler  explosions.  Tresten  sketched  it.  The  baroness 
realized  it,  and  shut  her  lips  tight  for  a  laugh  of  essential 
humour. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Late  in  the  day  Alvan  was  himself  able  to  inform  her  that 
he  had  overcome  Clotilde's  father  after  a  struggle  of  hours. 
The  General  had  not  consented  to  everything :  he  had  granted 
enough,  evidently  in  terror  of  the  man  who  had  captured 
Count  Hollinger;  and  it  was  arranged  that  Tresten  and 
Storchel  were  to  wait  on  Clotilde  next  morning,  and  hear 
from  her  mouth  whether  she  yielded  or  not  to  Alvan's  re- 
quest to  speak  with  her  alone  before  the  official  interview 
in  the  presence  of  the  notary,  when  she  was  publicly  to 
state  her  decision  and  freedom  of  choice,  according  to  Count 
Hollinger's  amicable  arrangement  through  his  envoy. 

"  She  will  see  me  —  and  the  thing  is  done  !  "  said  Alvan. 
"  But  I  have  worked  for  it  —  I  have  worked !  I  have 
been  talking  to-day  for  six  hours  uninterruptedly  at  a 
stretch  to  her  father,  who  reminds  me  of  a  caged  bear  I 
saw  at  a  travelling  menagerie,  and  the  beast  would  per- 
form none  of  his  evolutions  for  the  edification  of  us  lads 
till  his  keeper  touched  a  particular  pole,  and  the  touch  of 
it  set  him  to  work  like  the  winding  of  a  key.  Hollinger's 
name  was  my  magic  wand  with  the  General.  I  could  get 
no  sense  from  him,  nor  any  acquiescence  in  sense,  till  I 
called  up  Hollinger,  when  the  General's  alacrity  was  imme- 
diately that  of  the  bear,  or  a  little  boy  castigated  for  his 
share  of  original  sin.     They  have  been  hard  a.t  her,  the 


THE  TRAGIC   COI^IEDIANS  121 

whole  family  !  and  I  shall  want  the  two  hours  I  stipulated 
for  to  the  full.  What  do  you  say  ?  —  come,  I  wager  I  do  it 
within  one  hour  !  They  have  stockaded  her  pretty  closely, 
and  it  will  be  some  time  before  I  shall  get  her  to  have  a  clear 
view  of  me  behind  her  defences ;  but  an  hour 's  an  age  with 
a  woman.  Clotilde  ?  I  wager  I  have  her  on  her  knees  in 
half  an  hour  !  These  notions  of  duty,  and  station,  and  her 
fiddle-de-dee  betrothal  to  that  Danube  osier  with  Indian-idol 
eyes,  count  for  so  much  mist.  She  was  and  is  mine.  I 
swear  to  strike  to  her  heart  in  ten  minutes  !  But,  madam, 
if  not,  you  may  pronounce  me  incapable  of  conquering  any 
woman,  or  of  taking  an  absolute  impression  of  facts.  I  say 
I  will  do  it!  I  am  insane  if  I  may  not  judge  from  antece- 
dents that  my  voice,  my  touch,  my  face,  will  draw  her  to  me 
at  one  signal  —  at  a  look !  I  am  prepared  to  stake  my  reason 
on  her  running  to  me  before  I  speak  a  word :  —  and  I  will  not 
beckon.     I  promise  to  fold  my  arms  and  simply  look.'^ 

"  Your  task  of  two  hours,  then,  will  be  accomplished,  I 
compute,  in  about  half  a  minute  —  but  it  is  on  the  assump- 
tion that  she  consents  to  see  you  alone,"  said  the  baroness. 

Alvan  opened  his  eyes.  He  perceived  in  his  deep 
sagaciousness  woman  at  the  bottom  of  her  remark,  and 
replied  :  "  You  will  know  Clotilde  in  time.  She  points  to 
me  straight ;  but  of  course  if  you  agitate  the  compass  the 
needle  ^s  all  in  a  tremble  :  and  the  vessel  is  weak,  I  admit, 
but  the  instinct 's  positive.  To  doubt  it  would  upset  my 
understanding.  I  have  had  three  distinct  experiences  of 
my  influence  over  her,  and  each  time,  curiously  each  time 
exactly  in  proportion  to  my  degree  of  resolve  —  but, 
baroness,  I  tell  you  it  was  minutely  in  proportion  to  it; 
weighed  down  to  the  grain !  —  each  time  did  that  girl 
respond  to  me  with  a  similar  degree  of  earnestness.  As 
I  waned  she  waned;  as  I  heated,  so  did  she,  and  from 
spark-heat  to  flame  and  to  furnace-heat  ! '' 

"  A  refraction  of  the  rays  according  to  the  altitude  of  the 
orb,"  observed  the  baroness  in  a  tone  of  assent,  and  she 
smiled  to  herself  at  the  condition  of  the  man  who  could 
accept  it  for  that. 

He  did  not  protest  beyond  presently  a  transient  frown 
as  at  a  bad  taste  on  his  tongue,  and  a  rather  petulant 
objection  to  her  use  of  analogies,  which  he  called  the  sap- 


122  THE  TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

ping  of  language.  She  forbore  to  remind  him  m  retort  of 
his  employment  of  metaphor  when  the  figure  served  his 
purpose. 

"  Marvellously/'  cried  Alvan,  "  marvellously  that  girl 
answered  to  my  lead!  and  to-morrow  —  you'll  own  me 
right  —  I  must  double  the  attraction.  I  shall  have  to  hand 
her  back  to  her  people  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  dose 
must  be  doubled  to  keep  her  fast  and  safe.  You  see  I  read 
her  flatly.  I  read  and  am  charitable.  I  have  a  perfect 
philosophical  tolerance.  I  'm  in  the  mood  to-day  of  Horace 
hymning  one  of  his  fair  Greeks." 

"  No,  no !  that  is  a  comparison  past  my  endurance," 
interposed  the  baroness.  "  Friend  Sigismund,  you  have  no 
philosophy,  you  never  had  any ;  and  the  small  crow  and 
croon  of  Horace  would  be  the  last  you  could  take  up. 
It  is  the  chanted  philosophy  of  comfortable  stipendiaries, 
retired  merchants,  gouty  patients  on  a  restricted  allowance 
of  the  grape,  old  men  who  have  given  over  thinking,  and 
young  men  who  never  had  feeling  —  the  philosophy  of 
swine  grunting  their  carmen  as  they  turn  to  fat  in  the  sun. 
Horace  avaunt !  You  have  too  much  poetry  in  you  to  quote 
that  unsanguine  sensualist  for  your  case.  His  love  dis- 
tressed his  liver,  and  gave  him  a  jaundice  once  or  twice, 
but  where  his  love  yields  its  poor  ghost  to  his  philosophy, 
yours  begins  its  labours.  That  everlasting  Horace  !  He 
is  the  versifier  of  the  cushioned  enemy,  not  of  us  who 
march  along  flinty  ways  :  the  piper  of  the  bourgeois  in  soul, 
poet  of  the  conforming  unbelievers  !  " 

"Pyrrha,  Lydia,  Lalage,  Chloe,  Glycera,"  Alvan  mur- 
mured, amorous  of  the  musical  names.  "  Clotilde  is  a 
Greek  of  one  of  the  Isles,  an  Ionian.  I  see  her  in  the 
Horatian  ode  as  in  one  of  those  old  round  shield-mirrors 
which  give  you  a  speck  of  the  figure  on  a  silver-solar  beam, 
brilliant,  not  much  bigger  than  a  dewdrop.  And  so  should 
a  man's  heart  reflect  her  !  Take  her  on  the  light  in  it,  she 
is  perfection.  We  won't  take  her  in  the  shady  part  or  on 
your  flat  looking-glasses.  There  never  was  necessity  for 
accuracy  of  line  in  the  portraiture  of  women.  The  idea  of 
them  is  all  we  want :  it  's  the  best  of  them.  You  will  own 
she's  Greek;  she's  a  Perinthian,  Andrian,  Olynthian, 
Samian,  Messenian.    One  of  those  delicious  girls  in  the  New 


THE  TRAGIC  C0:MEDIANS  123 

Comedy,  I  remember,  was  called  The  Postponer,  The 
Deferrer,  or,  as  we  might  say,  The  To-morrower. 
There  you  have  Clotilde  :  she 's  a  To-morrower.  You  climb 
the  peak  of  to-morrow,  and  to  see  her  at  all  you  must  see  hei 
on  the  next  peak  :  but  she  leaves  you  her  promise  to  hug  on 
every  yesterday,  and  that  keeps  you  going.  Ay,  so  long  as 
we  have  patience  !  Feeding  on  a  young  woman's  promises 
of  yesterday  in  one's  fortieth  year !  —  it  must  end  to- 
morrow, though  I  kill  something." 

Kill,  he  meant,  the  aerial  wild  spirit  he  could  admire  as 
her  character,  when  he  had  the  prospect  of  extinguishing  it 
in  his  grasp. 

"  What  do  you  meditate  killing  ?  "  said  the  baroness. 

"The  fool  of  the  years  behind  me,"  he  replied,  "and 
entering  on  my  forty-first  a  sage." 

"  To  be  the  mate  and  equal  of  your  companion  ?  " 

"  To  prove  I  have  had  good  training  under  the  wisest  to 
act  as  her  guide  and  master." 

"  If  she "  the  baroness  checked  her  exclamation,  say- 
ing: "  She  declined  to  come  to  me.  I  would  have  plumbed 
her  for  some  solid  ground,  something  to  rest  one's  faith  on. 
Your  Pyrrhas,  Glyceras,  and  others  of  the  like,  were  not 
stable  persons  for  a  man  of  our  days  to  bind  his  life  to 
one  of  them.  Harness  is  harness,  and  a  light  yoke-fellow 
can  make  a  proud  career  deviate." 

"  But  I  give  her  a  soul !  "  said  Alvan.  "  I  am  the  wine, 
and  she  the  crystal  cup.  She  has  avowed  it  again  and 
again.  You  read  her  as  she  is  when  away  from  me.  Then 
she  is  a  reed,  a  weed,  what  you  will ;  she  is  unfit  to  contend 
when  she  stands  alone.  But  when  I  am  beside  her,  when 
we  are  together  —  the  moment  I  have  her  at  arms'  length 
she  will  be  part  of  me  by  the  magic  I  have  seen  each  time 
we  encountered.     She  knows  it  well." 

"  She  may  know  it  too  well." 

"  For  what  ?  "     He  frowned. 

"  For  the  chances  of  your  meeting." 

"  You  think  it  possible  she  will  refuse  ?  " 

A  blackness  passing  to  lividness  crossed  his  face.  He 
fetched  a  big  breath. 

"  Then  finish  my  history,  shut  up  the  book ;  I  am  a 
phantom  of  a  man,  and  everything  written  there  is  im- 


124  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

posture  !  I  ca,n  account  for  all  tliat  she  has  done  hitherto, 
but  not  that  she  should  refuse  to  see  me.  Not  that  she 
should  refuse  to  see  me  now  when  I  come  armed  to  demand 
it !  Refuse  ?  But  I  have  done  my  work,  done  what  I  said 
I  would  do.  I  stand  in  my  order  of  battle,  and  she  refuses  ? 
No !  I  stake  my  head  on  it !  I  have  not  a  clod's  perception, 
I  have  not  a  spark  of  sense  to  distinguish  me  from  a  flat- 
headed  Lapp,  if  she  refuses  :  —  call  me  a  mountebank  who 
has  gained  his  position  by  clever  tumbling ;  a  lucky  game- 
ster ;  whatever  plays  blind  with  chance." 

He  started  up  in  agitation.  "  Lucie !  I  am  a  grinning 
skull  without  a  brain  if  that  girl  refuses  !  She  will  not." 
He  took  his  hat  to  leave,  adding,  to  seem  rational  to  the 
cool  understanding  he  addressed  :  "  She  will  not  refuse  ;  I 
am  bound  to  think  so  in  common  respect  for  myself;  I 
have  done  tricks  to  make  me  appear  a  rageing  ape  if  she  — 
oh!  she  cannot,  she  will  not  refuse.  Never!  I  have  eyes, 
I  have  wits,  I  am  not  tottering  yet  on  my  grave  —  or  it 's 
blindly,  if  I  am.  I  have  my  clear  judgement,  I  am  not  an 
imbecile.  It  seems  to  me  a  foolish  suspicion  that  she  can 
possibly  refuse.  Her  manners  are  generally  good ;  freakish, 
but  good  in  the  main.  Perhaps  she  takes  a  sting  .  .  .  but 
there  is  no  sting  here.  It  would  be  bad  manners  to  refuse ; 
—  to  say  nothing  of  .  .  .  she  has  a  heart!  Well,  then, 
good  manners  and  right  feeling  forbid  her  to  refuse.  She 
is  an  exceedingly  intelligent  girl,  and  I  half  fear  I  have 
helped  you  to  a  wrong  impression  of  her.  You  will  really 
appreciate  her  wit ;  you  will  indeed  ;  believe  me,  you  will. 
We  pardon  nonsense  in  a  girl.  Married,  she  will  put  on 
the  matron  with  becoming  decency,  and  I  am  responsible 
for  her  then  ;  I  stand  surety  for  her  then ;  when  I  have  her 
with  me  I  warrant  her  mine  and  all  mine,  head  and  heels, 
at  a  whistle,  like  the  Cossack's  horse.  I  fancy  that  at  forty 
I  am  about  as  young  as  most  young  men.  I  promise  her 
another  forty  manful  working  years.  Are  you  dubious  of 
that  ?  " 

"  I  nod  to  you  from  the  palsied  summit  of  ninety,"  said 
the  baroness. 

Alvan  gave  a  short  laugh  and  stammered  excuses  for 
his  naked  egoism,  comparing  himself  to  a  forester  who 
has  sharpened  such  an  appetite  in  toiling  to  slay  his  roe 


THE  TEAGIO   COMEDIANS  125 

that  he  can  think  of  nothing  but  the  fire  preparing  the 
feast. 

'^  Hymen  and  things  hymenaeal ! "  he  said,  laughing  at 
himself  for  resuming  the  offence  on  the  apology  for  it.  "  I 
could  talk  with  interest  of  a  trousseau.  I  have  debated  in 
my  mind  with  parliamentary  acrimony  about  a  choice  of 
wedding-presents.  As  she  is  legally  free  to  bestow  her 
hand  on  me  —  and  only  a  brute's  horns  could  contest  the 
fact — she  may  decide  to  be  married  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, and  get  the  trousseau  in  Paris.  She  has  a  turn  for 
startling.  I  can  imagine  that  if  I  proposed  a  run  for  it  she 
would  be  readier  to  spring  to  be  on  the  road  with  me  than 
in  acquiescing  in  a  quiet  arrangement  about  a  ceremonial 
day;  partly  because,  in  the  first  case,  she  would  throw 
herself  and  the  rest  of  the  adventure  on  me,  at  no  other  cost 
than  the  enjoyment  of  one  of  her  impulses ;  and  in  the 
second,  because  she  is  a  girl  who  would  require  a  full 
band  of  the  best  Berlin  orchestra  in  perpetual  play  to  keep 
up  her  spirits  among  her  people  during  the  preparations  for 
espousing  a  democrat,  demagogue,  and  Jew,  of  a  presumed 
inferior  station  by  birth  to  her  own.  Give  Momus  a  sister, 
Clo tilde  is  the  lady !  I  know  her.  I  would  undertake  to 
put  a  spell  on  her  and  keep  her  contented  on  a  frontier  — • 
not  Eussian,  any  barbarous  frontier  where  there  is  a  sun. 
She  must  have  sun.  One  might  wrap  her  in  sables,  but 
sun  is  best.  She  loves  it  best,  though  she  looks  remarkably 
well  in  sables.  Never  shall  I  forget  ...  she  is  frUeuse, 
and  shivers  into  them!  There  are  Frenchmen  who  could 
paint  it — only  Frenchmen.  Our  artists,  no.  She  is  very 
French.  Born  in  France  she  would  have  been  a  matchless 
Parisienne.  Oh!  she's  a  riddle  of  course.  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  spell  every  letter  of  her.  The  returning  of  my 
presents  is  odd.  No,  I  maintain  that  she  is  a  coward  act- 
ing under  domination,  and  there's  no  other  way  of  explain- 
ing the  puzzle.  I  was  out  of  sight,  they  bullied  her,  and 
she  yielded  —  bewilderingly,  past  comprehension  it  seems 
— cat  1  — until  you  remember  what  she  's  made  of :  she  's  a 
reed.  Now  I  reappear  armed  with  powers  to  give  her  a  free 
course,  and  she,  that  abject  whom  you  beheld  recently  re- 
nouncing me,  is,  you  will  see,  the  young  Aurora  she  was 
when   she  came  striking  at  my  door  on  the   upper  Alp. 


126  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

That  was  a  morning!  That  morning  is  Clotilde  till  my 
eyes  turn  over!  She  is  all  young  heaven  and  the  moun- 
tains for  me  !  She  's  the  filmy  light  above  the  mountains 
that  weds  white  snow  and  sky.  By  the  way,  I  dreamt  last 
night  she  was  half  a  woman,  half  a  tree,  and  her  hair  was 
like  a  dead  yew-bough,  which  is  as  you  know  of  a  brown 
burnt-out  colour,  suitable  to  the  popular  conception  of 
widows.  She  stood,  and  whatever  turning  you  took,  you 
struck  back  on  her.  Whether  my  widow,  I  can't  say ;  she 
must  first  be  my  wife.     Oh,  for  to-morrow  ! " 

"  What  sort  of  evening  is  it  ?  "  said  the  baroness. 

"A  Mont  Blanc  evening:  I  saw  him  as  I  came  along," 
Alvan  replied,  and  seized  his  hat  to  be  out  to  look  on  the 
sovereign  mountain  again.  They  touched  hands.  He 
promised  to  call  in  the  forenoon  next  day. 

"Be  cool,"  she  counselled  him. 

"  Oh ! "  He  flung  back  his  head,  making  light  of  the 
crisis.  "  After  all,  it 's  only  a  girl.  But,  you  know,  what 
I  set  myself  to  win!  .  .  .  The  thing's  too  small  —  I  have 
been  at  such  pains  about  it  that  I  should  be  ridiculous  if  I 
allowed  myself  to  be  beaten.  There  is  no  other  reason  for 
the  trouble  we  're  at,  except  that,  as  I  have  said  a  thousand 
times,  she  suits  me.     ISTo  man  can  be  cooler  than  I." 

"  Keep  so,"  said  the  baroness. 

He  walked  to  where  the  strenuous  blue  lake,  finding  out- 
let, propels  a  shoulder,  like  a  bright-muscled  athlete  in 
action,  and  makes  the  Ehone-stream.  There  he  stood  for 
an  hour,  disfevered  by  the  limpid  liquid  tumult^  inspirited 
by  the  glancing  volumes  of  a  force  that  knows  no  abate- 
ment, and  is  the  skiey  Alps  behind,  the  great  historic  citied 
plains  ahead. 

His  meditation  ended  with  a  resolution  half  in  the  form 
of  a  prayer  (to  mixed  deities  undefined)  never  to  ask  for  a 
small  thing  any  more  if  this  one  were  granted  him ! 

He  had  won  it,  of  course,  having  brought  all  his  powers 
to  bear  on  the  task;  and  he  rejoiced  in  winning  it:  his 
heart  leapt,  his  imagination  spun  radiant  webs  of  colour: 
but  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  his  frenzies,  though  he  did 
not  distinctly  recall  them ;  he  fancied  he  had  made  some 
noise,  loud  or  not,  because  his  intentions  were  so  pure  that 
it  was  infamous  to  thwart  them.    At  a  certain  age  honest 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  127 

men  made  sacrifice  of  their  liberty  to  society,  and  he  had 
been  ready  to  perform  the  duty  of  husbanding  a  woman.  A 
man  should  have  a  wife  and  rear  children,  not  to  be  for- 
gotten in  the  land,  and  to  help  mankind  by  transmitting  to 
future  times  qualities  he  has  proved  priceless  :  he  thought 
of  the  children,  and  yearned  to  the  generations  of  men 
physically  and  morally  through  them. 

This  was  his  apology  to  the  world  for  his  distantly- 
recollected  excesses  of  temper. 

Was  she  so  small  a  thing  ?  Not  if  she  succumbed.  She 
was  petty,  vexatious,  irritating,  stinging,  while  she  resisted : 
she  cast  an  evil  beam  on  his  reputation,  strength  and 
knowledge  of  himself,  and  roused  the  giants  of  his  nature 
to  discharge  missiles  at  her,  justified  as  they  were  by  his 
pure  intentions  and  the  approbation  of  society.  But  he  had 
a  broad  full  heart  for  the  woman  who  would  come  to  him, 
forgiving  her,  uplifting  her,  richly  endowing  her.  No 
meanness  of  heart  was  in  him.  He  lay  down  at  night 
thinking  of  Clotilde  in  an  abandonment  of  tenderness. 
"  To-morrow  !  you  bird  of  to-morrow ! "  he  let  fly  his  good- 
night to  her. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


He  slept.  Near  upon  morning  he  roused  with  his  tender 
fit  strong  on  him,  but  speechless  in  the  waking  as  it  had 
been  dreamless  in  sleep.  It  was  a  happy  load  on  his 
breast,  a  life  about  to  be  born,  and  he  thought  that  a  wife 
beside  him  would  give  it  language.  She  should  have,  for 
she  would  call  out,  his  thousand  flitting  ideas  now  dropped 
on  barren  ground  for  want  of  her  fair  bosom  to  inspire,  to 
vivify,  to  receive.  Poetry  laid  a  hand  on  him :  his  desire 
of  the  wife,  the  children,  the  citizen's  good  name  —  of  these 
our  simple  civilized  ambitions  —  was  lowly  of  the  earth, 
throbbing  of  earth,  and  at  the  same  time  magnified  be- 
yond scope  of  speech  in  vast  images  and  emblems  resem- 
bling ranges  of  Olympian  cloud  round  the  blue  above  earth, 
all  to  be  decipherable,  all  utterable,  when  she  was  by.  What 
commoner  word !  —  yet  wife  seemed  to  him  the  word  most 


128  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

reverberating  of  the  secret  sought  after  by  man,  fullest  at 
once  of  fruit  and  of  mystery,  or  of  that  light  in  the  heart  of 
mystery  which  makes  it  magically  fruitful. 

'He  felt  the  presence  of  Clotilde  behind  the  word ;  but  in 
truth  the  delicate  sensations  breeding  these  half-thoughts 
of  his,  as  he  lay  between  sleeping  and  waking,  shrank  from 
conjuring  up  the  face  of  the  woman  who  had  wounded  them, 
and  a  certain  instinct  to  preserve  and  be  sure  of  his  present 
breathing-space  of  luxurious  tranquillity  kept  her  veiled. 
Soon  he  would  see  her  as  his  wife,  and  then  she  would  be 
she,  unveiled  ravishingly,  the  only  she,  the  only  wife !  He 
knew  the  cloud  he  clasped  for  Clotilde  enough  to  be  at 
pains  to  shun  a  possible  prospect  of  his  execrating  it.  Oh, 
the  only  she,  the  only  wife  !  the  wild  man's  reclaimer !  the 
sweet  abundant  valley  and  channel  of  his  river  of  existence 
henceforward !  Doubting  her  in  the  slightest  was  doubting 
her  human.  It  is  the  brain,  the  satanic  brain  which  will 
ever  be  pressing  to  cast  its  shadows :  the  heart  is  clearer 
and  truer. 

He  multiplied  images,  projected  visions,  nestled  in  his 
throbs  to  drug  and  dance  his  brain.  He  snatched  at  the 
beauty  of  a  day  that  outrolled  the  whole  Alpine  hand-in- 
hand  of  radiant  heaven-climbers  for  an  assurance  of  predes- 
tined celestial  beneficence ;  and  again,  shadowily  thoughtful 
of  the  littleness  of  the  thing  he  exalted  and  claimed,  he  staked 
his  reason  on  the  positive  blessing  to  come  to  him  before 
nightfall,  telling  himself  calmly  that  he  did  so  because  there 
would  be  madness  in  expecting  it  otherwise :  he  asked  for 
so  little !  Since  be  asked  for  so  little,  to  suppose  that  it 
would  not  be  granted  was  irrational.  Kone  but  a  very 
coward  could  hesitate  to  stake  his  all  on  the  issue. 

Singularly  small  indeed  the  other  aims  in  life  appeared 
by  comparison  with  this  one,  but  his  intellect,  in  the  act 
of  pleading  excuses  for  his  impatience,  distinguished  why 
it  should  be  so.  The  crust,  which  is  not  much,  is  everything 
to  the  starving  beggar  ;  and  he  was  eager  for  the  crust  that 
he  might  become  sound  and  whole  again,  able  to  give  their 
just  proportion  to  things,  as  at  present  he  acknowledged 
himself  hardly  able  to  do.  He  could  not  pursue  two 
thoughts  on  a  political  question,  or  grasp  the  idea  of  a 
salutary  energy  in  the  hosts  animated  by  his  leadership. 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  129 

There  would  have  to  be  an  end  of  it  speedily,  else  men 
might  name  him  worthless  dog! 

Morning  swam  on  the  lake  in  her  beautiful  nakedness,  a 
wedding  of  white  and  blue,  of  purest  white  and  bluest  blue. 
Alvan  crossed  the  island  bridges  when  the  sun  had  sprung 
on  his  shivering  fair  prey,  to  make  the  young  fresh  Morn- 
ing rosy,  and  was  glittering  along  the  smooth  lake-waters. 
Workmen  only  were  abroad,  and  Alvan  was  glad  to  be  out 
with  them  to  feel  with  them  as  one  of  them.  Close  beside 
him  the  vivid  genius  of  the  preceding  century,  whose  love 
of  workmen  was  a  salt  of  heaven  in  his  human  corruptness, 
looked  down  on  the  lake  in  marble.  Alvan  cherished  a 
worship  of  him  as  of  one  that  had  first  thrilled  him  with  the 
feeling  of  our  common  humanity,  with  the  tenderness  for 
the  poor,  with  the  knowledge  of  our  frailty.  Him,  as  well 
as  the  great  Englishman  and  a  Frenchman,  his  mind  called 
Father,  and  his  conscience  replied  to  that  progenitor's 
questioning  of  him,  but  said  "  You  know  the  love  of  woman." 
He  loved  indeed,  but  he  was  not  an  amatory  trifler.  He  too 
was  a  worker,  a  champion  worker.  He  doated  on  the  pros- 
pect of  plunging  into  his  work;  the  vision  of  jolly  giant 
labours  told  of  peace  obtained,  and  there  could  be  no  peace 
without  his  prize. 

He  listened  to  the  workmen's  foot-falls.  The  solitary 
sound  and  steady  motion  of  their  feet  were  eloquent  of 
early  morning  in  a  city,  not  less  than  the  changes  of  light 
in  heaven  above  the  roofs.  With  the  golden  light  came 
numbers,  workmen  still.  Their  tread  on  the  stones  roused 
some  of  his  working  thoughts,  like  an  old  tune  in  his  head, 
and  he  watched  the  scattered  files  passing  on,  disciplined 
by  their  daily  necessities,  easily  manageable  if  their  neces- 
sities are  but  justly  considered.  These  numbers  are  the 
brute  force  of  earth,  which  must  have  the  earth  in  time, 
as  they  had  it  in  the  dawn  of  our  world,  and  then  they 
entered  into  bondage  for  not  knowing  how  to  use  it.  They 
will  have  it  again :  they  have  it  partially,  at  times,  in  the 
despot,  who  is  only  the  reflex  of  their  brute  force,  and  can 
give  them  only  a  shadow  of  their  claim.  They  will  have  it 
all,  when  they  have  illumination  to  see  and  trust  to  the 
leadership  of  a  greater  force  than  they —  in  force  of  brain, 
in  the  spiritual  force  of  ideas ;  ideas  founded  on  justice  j 

9 


130  THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS 

and  not  the  justice  of  these  days  of  the  governing  few 
whose  wits  are  bent  to  steady  our  column  of  civilized 
humanity  by  a  combination  of  props  and  jugglers'  arts, 
but  a  justice  coming  of  the  recognized  needs  of  majorities, 
which  will  base  the  column  on  a  broad  plinth  for  safety  — 
broad  as  the  base  of  yonder  mountain's  towering  white  im- 
mensity —  and  will  be  the  guarantee  for  the  solid  uplifting 
of  our  civilization  at  last.  "  Right,  thou  !  I'  he  apostro- 
phized the  old  Ironer,  at  a  point  of  his  meditation.  ^^  And 
right,  thou !  more  largely  right ! "  he  thought,  further  ad- 
vanced in  it,  of  the  great  Giuseppe,  the  Genoese.  "  And 
right  am  I  too,  between  that  metal-rail  of  a  politician  and 
the  deep  dreamer,  each  of  them  incomplete  for  want  of  an 
element  of  the  other!"  Practically  and  in  vision  right 
was  Alvan,  for  those  two  opposites  met  fusing  in  him :  like 
the  former,  he  counted  on  the  supremacy  of  might ;  like 
the  latter,  he  distinguished  where  it  lay  in  perpetuity. 

During  his  younger  years  he  had  been  like  neither  in  the 
moral  curb  they  could  put  on  themselves  —  particularly  the 
southern-blooded  man.  He  had  resembled  the  naturally 
impatient  northerner  most,  though  not  so  supple  for  busi- 
ness as  he.  But  now  he  possessed  the  calmness  of  the 
Genoese ;  he  had  strong  self-command  now  ;  he  had  the 
principle  that  life  is  too  short  for  the  indulgence  of  public 
fretfulness  or  of  private  quarrels  ;  too  valuable  for  fruitless 
risks ;  too  sacred,  one  may  say,  for  the  shedding  of  blood 
on  personal  grounds.  Oh  !  he  had  himself  well  under, 
fear  not.  He  could  give  and  take  from  opposition.  And 
rightly  so,  seeing  that  he  confessed  to  his  own  bent  for 
sarcastically  stinging  :  he  was  therefore  bound  to  endure  a 
retort.  Speech  for  speech,  pamphlet  for  pamphlet,  he 
could  be  temperate.  Nay,  he  defied  an  adversary  to  pro- 
duce in  him  the  sensation  of  intemperateness  ;  so  there 
would  not  be  much  danger  of  his  being  excited  to  betray  it. 
Shadowily  he  thought  of  the  hard  words  hurled  at  him  by 
the  Rlidigers,  and  of  the  injury  Clotilde's  father  did  him 
by  plotting  to  rob  him  of  his  daughter.  But  how  had 
an  Alvan  replied  ?  — with  the  arts  of  peaceful  fence  victo- 
riously. He  conceived  of  no  temptation  to  his  repressed 
irascibility  save  the  political.  A  day  might  come  for  him 
and  the  vehement  old  Ironer  to  try  their  mettle  in  a  tussle. 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  131 

On  that  day  he  would  have  to  be  wary,  but,  as  Alvan  felt 
assured,  he  would  be  more  master  of  himself  than  his 
antagonist.  He  was  for  the  young  world,  in  the  brain  of 
a  new  order  of  things ;  the  other  based  his  unbending 
system  on  the  visions  of  a  feudal  chief,  and  would  win  a 
great  step  perchance,  but  there  he  would  stop :  he  was  not 
with  the  future  ! 

This  immediate  prospect  of  a  return  to  serenity  after  his 
recent  charioteering,  had  set  him  thinking  of  himself  and 
his  days  to  come,  which  hung  before  him  in  a  golden  haze 
that  was  tranquillizing.  He  had  a  name,  he  had  a  station: 
he  wanted  power  and  he  saw  it  approaching. 

He  wanted  a  wife  too.  Colonel  von  Tresten  took  coffee 
with  him  previous  to  the  start  with  Dr.  Storchel  to  General 
von  Etidiger's  house.  Alvan  consequently  was  unable  any 
longer  to  think  of  a  wife  in  the  abstract.  He  wanted  Clo- 
tilde.  Here  was  a  man  going  straight  to  her,  going  to  see 
her,  positively  to  see  her  and  hear  her  voice  !  —  almost 
instantly  to  hear  her  voice,  and  see  her  eyes  and  hair,  touch 
her  hand.  Oh !  and  rally  her,  rouse  her  wit ;  and  be  able 
to  tell  him  the  flower  she  wore  for  the  day,  and  where  she 
wore  it  —  at  her  temples,  or  sliding  to  the  back  hair,  or  in 
her  bosom,  or  at  her  waist!  She  had  innumerable  tricks  of 
indication  in  these  shifty  pretty  ways  of  hers,  and  was  full 
of  varying  speech  to  the  cunning  reader  of  her. 

"But  keep  her  to  seriousness,"  Alvan  said.  "Our  meet- 
ing must  be  early  to-day  —  early  in  the  afternoon.  She  is 
not  unlikely  to  pretend  to  trifle.  She  has  not  seen  me  for 
some  time,  and  will  probably  enough  play  at  emancipation 
and  speak  of  the  'singular  impatience  of  the  seigneur  Alvan.' 
Don't  you  hear  her  ?  I  swear  to  those  very  words  !  She 
*  loves  her  liberty,'  and  she  curves  her  fan  and  taps  her 
foot.  '  The  seigneur  Alvan  appears  pressed  for  time.'  She 
has  'letters  to  write  to  friends  to-day.'  Stop  that!  I  can't 
join  in  play :  to-morrow,  if  she  likes ;  not  to-day.  Or  not 
till  I  have  her  by  the  hand.  She  shall  be  elf  and  fairy, 
French  coquette,  whatever  she  pleases  to-morrow,  and  I  '11 
be  satisfied.  All  I  beg  is  for  plain  dealing  on  a  business 
matter.  This  is  a  business  matter,  a  business  meeting.  I 
thoroughly  know  the  girl's  heart,  and  know  that  in  winning 
the  interview  I  win  her.     Only"  —  he  pressed  his  friend's 


182  THE   TEAGIC   COMEDIANS 

arm  —  ^'but,  my  dear  Tresten,  you  understand.  You're  a 
luckier  fellow  than  I  —  for  the  time,  at  all  events.  Make 
it  as  short  as  you  can.  You'll  find  me  here.  I  shall  take 
a  book  —  one  of  the  Pandects.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall 
work.  I  feel  idle.  Any  book  handy ;  anything  will  inter- 
est me.  I  should  walk  or  row  on  the  lake,  but  I  would 
rather  be  sure  of  readiness  for  your  return.  You  meet 
Storchel  at  the  General's  house  ?  " 

"  The  appointment  was  at  the  house,"  Tresten  said. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  this  morning.  I  know  of  nothing 
to  prepare  him  for.  You  see,  it  was  invariable  with  her  :  as 
soon  as  she  met  me  she  had  twice  her  spirit:  and  that  she 
knows ;  —  she  was  a  new  woman,  ten  times  the  happier  for 
having  some  grains  of  my  courage.  So  she  '11  be  glad  to 
come  to  terms  and  have  me  by  to  support  her.  Press  it,  if 
necessary ;  otherwise  she  might  be  disappointed,  my  dear 
fellow.  Storchel  looks  on,  and  observes,  and  that 's  about 
all  he  can  do,  or  need  do.  Up  Mont  Blanc  to-day,  Tresten ! 
It 's  the  very  day  for  an  ascent :  —  one  of  the  rare  crystalline 
jewels  coming  in  a  Swiss  August ;  we  should  see  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth  —  and  a  Republic  !  But  I  could  climb 
with  all  my  heart  in  a  snowstorm  to-day.  Andes  on  Hima- 
layas !  as  high  as  you  like.  The  Eepublic  by  the  way, 
small  enough  in  the  ring  of  empires  and  monarchies,  if  you 
measure  it  geometrically  !  You  remember  the  laugh  at  the 
exact  elevation  of  Mount  Olympus  ?  But  Zeus's  eagle  sat 
on  it,  and  top  me  Olympus,  after  you  have  imagined  the 
eagle  aloft  there  !  after  Homer,  is  the  meaning.  That  will 
be  one  of  the  lessons  for  our  young  Eepublicans  —  to  teach 
them  not  to  give  themselves  up  to  the  embrace  of  dead 
materialism  because,  as  they  fancy,  they  have  had  to  depend 
on  material  weapons  for  carving  their  way,  and  have  had  no 
help  from  other  quarters.  A  suicidal  delusion  !  The  spirit- 
ual weapon  has  done  most,  and  always  does.  They  are  sons 
of  an  idea.  They  deny  their  parentage  when  they  scoff  at 
idealism.  It 's  a  tendency  we  shall  have  to  guard  against ; 
it  leads  back  to  the  old  order  of  things,  if  we  do  not  trim 
our  light. —  She  is  waiting  for  you!  Go.  You  will  find 
me  here.  And  don't  forget  my  instructions.  Appoint  for 
the  afternoon  —  not  late.  Too  near  night  will  seem  like 
Orpheus  going  below,  and  I  hope  to  meet  a  living  woman, 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  133 

not  a  ghost  —  lia !  coloured  like  a  lantern  in  a  cavern,  good 
Lord  !  Covered  with  lichen  !  Say  three  o'clock,  not  later. 
The  reason  is,  I  want  to  have  it  over  early  and  be  sure  of 
what  I  am  doing ;  I  'm  bothered  by  it ;  I  shall  have  to  make 
arrangements  ...  a  thousand  little  matters  .  .  .  telegraph 
to  Paris,  I  daresay ;  she  's  fond  of  Paris,  and  1  must  learn 
who  's  there  to  meet  her.  Now  start.  I  '11  walk  a  dozen 
steps  with  you.  I  think  of  her  as  if,  since  we  parted,  she 
had  been  sitting  on  a  throne  in  Erebus,  and  must  be  ghastly. 
I  had  a  dream  of  a  dead  tree  that  upset  me.  In  fact,  you 
see  I  must  have  it  over.  The  whole  affair  makes  me  feel 
too  young." 

Tresten  advised  him  to  spend  an  hour  with  the  baroness. 

"  I  can't ;  she  makes  me  feel  too  old,"  said  Alvan.  "  She 
talks.  She  listens,  but  I  don't  want  to  speak.  Dead  silence  ! 
—  let  it  be  a  dash  of  the  pen  till  you  return.  As  for  these 
good  people  hurrying  to  their  traffic,  and  tourists  and 
loungers,  they  have  a  trick  for  killing  time  without  hurt- 
ing him.  I  wish  I  had.  I  try  to  smother  a  minute,  and 
up  the  old  fellow  jumps  quivering  all  over  and  threatening 
me  body  and  soul.  They  don't  appear  as  if  they  had  news 
on  their  faces  this  morning.  I've  not  seen  a  newspaper 
and  won't  look  at  one.  Here  we  separate.  Be  formal  in 
mentioning  me  to  her  but  be  particularly  civil.  I  know 
you  have  the  right  tone  :  she  's  a  critical  puss.  Days  like 
these  are  the  days  for  her  to  be  out.  There  goes  a  parasol 
like  one  I  've  seen  her  carry.  Stay  —  no  !  Don't  forget  my 
instructions.  Paris  for  a  time.  It  may  be  the  Pyrenees. 
Paris  on  our  way  back.  She  would  like  the  Pyrenees.  It 's 
not  too  late  for  society  at  Luchon  and  Cauterets.  She 
likes  mountains,  she  mounts  well :  in  any  case,  plenty  of 
mules  can  be  had.  Paris  to  wind  up  with.  Paris  will  be 
fuller  about  the  beginning  of  October." 

He  had  quitted  Tresten,  and  was  talking  to  himself, 
cheating  himself,  not  discordantly  at  all.  The  poet  of  the 
company  within  him  claimed  the  word  and  was  allowed  by 
the  others  to  dilate  on  Clotilde's  likings,  and  the  honey- 
moon or  post  —  honeymoon  amusements  to  be  provided  for 
her  in  Pyrenean  valleys,  and  Parisian  theatres  and  salons. 
She  was  friande  of  chocolates,  bon-bons :  she  enjoyed  fine 
pastry,  had  a  real  relish  of  good  wine.     She  should  have 


134  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAKS 

the  best  of  everything ;  he  knew  the  spots  of  the  very  best 
that  Paris  could  supply,  in  confiseurs  and  restaurants,  and 
in  millinery  likewise.  A  lively  recollection  of  the  prattle 
of  Parisian  ladies  furnished  names  and  addresses  likely  to 
prove  invaluable  to  Clotilde.  He  knew  actors  and  actresses, 
and  managers  of  theatres,  and  mighty  men  in  letters.  She 
should  have  the  cream  of  Paris.  Does  she  hint  at  reward- 
ing him  for  his  trouble  ?  The  thought  of  her  indebted  lips, 
half  closed,  asking  him  how  to  repay  him,  sprang  his  heart 
to  his  throat. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Then  he  found  himself  saying :  "  At  the  age  I  touch !  "  .  .  . 

At  the  age  of  forty,  men  that  love  love  rootedly.  If  the 
love  is  plucked  from  them,  the  life  goes  with  it. 

He  backed  on  his  physical  pride,  a  stout  bulwark.  His 
forty  years — the  forty,  the  fifty,  the  sixty  of  Alvan, 
matched  the  twenties  and  thirties  of  other  men. 

Still  it  was  true  that  he  had  reached  an  age  when  the 
desire  to  plant  his  affections  in  a  dear  fair  bosom  fixedly 
was  natural.  Fairer,  dearer  than  she  was  never  one  on 
earth !  He  stood  bareheaded  for  coolness,  looking  in  the 
direction  Tresten  had  taken,  his  forehead  shining  and  eyes 
charged  with  the  electrical  activity  of  the  mind,  reading 
intensely  all  who  passed  him,  without  a  thought  upon  any 
of  these  objects  in  their  passage.  The  people  were  read, 
penetrated,  and  flung  off  as  from  a  whirring  of  wheels ;  to 
cut  their  place  in  memory  sharp  as  in  steel  when  imagina- 
tion shall  by  and  by  renew  the  throbbing  of  that  hour, 
if  the  wheels  be  not  stilled.  The  world  created  by  the 
furnaces  of  vitality  inside  him  absorbed  his  mind;  and 
strangely,  while  receiving  multitudinous  vivid  impressions, 
he  did  not  commune  with  one,  was  unaware  of  them.  His 
thick  black  hair  waved  and  glistened  over  the  fine  aquiline 
of  his  face.  His  throat  was  open  to  the  breeze.  His  great 
breast  and  head  were  joined  by  a  massive  column  of  throat 
that  gave  volume  for  the  coursing  of  the  blood  to  fire  the 
battery  of  thought,  perchance  in   a  tempest  overflood  it, 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  185 

extinguish  it.  His  fortieth  year  was  written  on  his  com- 
plexion and  presence :  it  was  the  fortieth  of  a  giant  growth 
that  will  bend  at  the  past  eightieth  as  little  as  the  rock- 
pine,  should  there  come  no  uprooting  tempest.  It  said 
manhood,  and  breathed  of  settled  strength  of  muscle,  nerve, 
and  brain. 

Of  the  people  passing,  many  knew  him  not,  but  marked 
him;  some  knew  him  by  repute,  one  or  two  his  person. 
To  all  of  them  he  was  a  noticeable  figure;  even  those  of 
sheeplike  nature,  having  an  inclination  to  start  upon  the 
second  impulse  in  the  flanks  of  curious  sheep  when  their 
first  has  been  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  one  not  of 
their  kind,  acknowledged  the  eminence  of  his  bearing. 
There  may  have  been  a  passenger  in  the  street  who  could 
tell  the  double  tale  of  the  stick  he  swung  in  his  hand, 
showing  a  gleam  of  metal,  whereon  were  engraved  names 
of  the  lurid  historic  original  owner,  and  of  the  donor 
and  the  recipient.  According  to  the  political  sentiments 
of  the  narrator  would  his  tale  be  coloured,  and  a  simple 
walking-stick  would  be  clothed  in  Tarquin  guilt  for  strik- 
ing off  heads  of  the  upper  ranks  of  Frenchmen  till  the 
blood  of  them  topped  the  handle,  or  else  wear  hues  of  won- 
der, seem  very  memorable,  fit  at  least  for  a  museum.  If 
the  Christian  aristocrat  might  shrink  from  it  in  terror  and 
loathing,  the  Paynim  Republican  of  deep  dye  would  be 
ready  to  kiss  it  with  veneration.  But,  assuming  them  to 
have  a  certain  bond  of  manliness,  both  agree  in  pronounc- 
ing the  deed  a  right  valiant  and  worthy  one,  which  caused 
this  instrument  to  be  presented  to  Alvan  by  a  famous 
doctor,  who,  hearing  of  his  repudiation  of  the  duel,  and 
of  his  gallant  and  triumphant  defence  of  himself  against 
a  troop  of  ruffians,  enemies  or  scum  of  their  city,  at  night, 
by  the  aid  of  a  common  stout  pedestrian  stick,  alone  in  a 
dark  alley  of  the  public  park,  sent  him,  duly  mounted  and 
engraved,  an  illustrious  fellow  to  the  weapon  of  defence, 
as  a  mode  of  commemorating  his  just  abhorrence  of  blood- 
shed and  his  peaceful  bravery. 

Observers  of  him  would  probably  speculate  on  his  fea- 
tures and  the  carriage  of  his  person  as  he  went  by  them ; 
with  a  result  in  their  minds  that  can  be  of  no  import  to  us, 
men's  general  speculations  being  directed  by  their  indi- 


136  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

vidual  aims  and  their  moods,  their  timidities,  prejudices, 
envies,  rivalries ;  but  none  could  contest  that  he  was  a 
potential  figure.  If  to  know  him  the  rising  demagogue  of 
the  time  dressed  him  in  such  terrors  as  to  make  him  appear 
an  impending  Attila  of  the  voracious  hordes  which  live 
from  hand  to  mouth,  without  intervention  of  a  banker  and 
property  to  cry  truce  to  the  wolf,  he  would  have  shone 
under  a  different  aspect  enough  to  send  them  to  the  poets 
to  solve  their  perplexity,  had  the  knowledge  been  sub- 
joined that  this  terrific  devastator  swinging  the  sanguinary 
stick  was  a  slave  of  love,  who  staked  his  all  upon  his  love, 
loved  up  to  his  capacity  desperately,  loved  a  girl,  and  hung 
upon  her  voice  to  hear  whether  his  painful  knocking  at 
a  door  should  gain  him  admittance  to  the  ranks  of  the 
orderly  citizens  of  the  legitimately-satiated  passions,  or 
else  —  the  voice  of  a  girl  annihilate  him. 

He  loved  like  the  desert-bred  Eastern,  as  though  his 
blood  had  never  ceased  to  be  steeped  in  its  fountain 
Orient ;  loved  barbarously,  but  with  a  compelling  resolve 
to  control  his  blood  and  act  and  be  the  civilized  man,  sober 
by  virtue  of  his  lady's  gracious  aid.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
civilized  man  in  him  that  had  originally  sought  the  intro- 
duction to  her,  with  a  bribe  to  the  untameable.  The 
former  had  once  led,  and  hoped  to  lead  again.  Alvan  was 
a  revolutionist  in  imagination,  the  workman's  friend  in 
rational  sympathy,  their  leader  upon  mathematical  calcula- 
tion, but  a  lawyer,  a  reasoner  in  law,  and  therefore  of 
necessity  a  cousin  germane,  leaning  to  become  an  ally,  of 
the  Philistines  —  the  founders  and  main  supporters  of  his 
book  of  the  Law.  And  so,  between  the  nature  of  his 
blood,  and  the  inclination  of  his  mind,  Alvan  set  his  heart 
on  a  damsel  of  the  Philistines,  endowed  with  their  trained 
elegancies  and  governed  by  some  of  their  precepts,  but 
suitable  to  his  wildness  in  her  reputation  for  originality, 
suiting  him  in  her  cultivated  liveliness  and  her  turn  for 
luxury.  Only  the  Philistines  breed  these  choice  beauties, 
put  forth  these  delicate  fresh  young  buds  of  girls;  and 
only  here  and  there  among  them  is  there  an  exquis- 
ite, eccentric,  yet  passably  decorous  Clotilde.  What  his 
brother  politicians  never  discovered  in  him,  and  the  baron- 
ess partly  suspected,  through  her  interpretation  of  things 


THE   TRAGIC    COMEDIANS  137 

opposing  her  sentiments,  Clotilde  uncloaks.  Catching  and 
mastering  her,  his  wilder  animation  may  be  appeased,  but 
his  political  life  is  threatened  with  a  diversion  of  its  cur- 
rent, for  he  will  be  uxorious,  impassioned  to  gratify  the 
tastes  and  whims  of  a  youthful  wife ;  the  Kepublican  will 
be  in  danger  of  playing  prematurely  for  power  to  seat 
her  beside  him  high:  while  at  the  same  time,  children, 
perchance,  and  his  hardening  lawyer's  head  are  secretly 
Philistinizing  the  demagogue,  blunting  the  fine  edge  of 
his  Eadicalism,  turning  him  into  a  slow-stepping  Liberal, 
otherwise  your  half-Conservative  in  his  convictions.  Can 
she  think  it  much  to  have  married  that  drab-coloured  unit  ? 
Power  must  be  grasped.  .  .  . 

His  watch  told  him  that  Tresten  was  now  beholding  her, 
or  just  about  to.  The  stillness  of  the  heavens  was  remark- 
able. The  hour  held  breath.  She  delayed  her  descent 
from  her  chamber.  He  saw  how  she  touched  at  her  hair, 
more  distinctly  than  he  saw  the  lake  before  his  eyes.  He 
watched  her,  and  the  growl  of  a  coming  roar  from  him  re- 
buked her  tricky  deliberateness.  Deciding  at  last,  she  slips 
down  the  stairs  like  a  waterfall,  and  is  in  the  room,  erect, 
composed  —  if  you  do  not  lay  ear  against  her  bosom.  Tres- 
ten stares  at  her,  owns  she  is  worth  a  struggle.  Love  does 
this,  friend  Tresten !  Love,  that  stamps  out  prejudice  and 
bids  inequality  be  smooth.  Tresten  stares  and  owns  she  is 
worth  heavier  labours,  worse  than  his  friend  has  endured. 
Love  does  it !  Love,  that  hallows  a  stranger's  claim  to  the 
flower  of  a  proud  garden :  Love  has  won  her  the  freedom  to 
suffer  herself  to  be  chosen  by  the  stranger.  What  matters 
which  of  them  toiled  to  bring  them  to  so  sweet  an  end !  It 
was  not  either  of  them,  but  Love.  By  and  by,  after  acting 
serenest  innocent,  suddenly  broken,  she  will  be  copious  of 
sad  confessions.  That  will  be  in  their  secrecy  :  in  the  close 
and  boundless  together  of  clasped  hands.  Deep  eyes,  that 
give  him  in  realms  of  light  within  light  all  that  he  has 
dreamed  of  rapturousness  and  blessedness,  you  are  threat- 
ened with  a  blinding  kiss  if  you  look  abashed: — if  her 
voice  shall  dare  repeat  another  of  those  foolish  self-re- 
proaches, it  shall  be  construed  as  a  petition  for  further 
kisses.  Silence  !  he  said  to  her,  imagining  that  he  had  been 
silent,  and  enjoying  silence  with  a  perfect  quietude  beyond 


138  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIAKS 

the  trouble  of  a  thought  of  her  kisses  and  his  happiness. 
His  full  heart  craved  for  the  infinity  of  silence. 

Another  moment,  and  he  was  counting  to  her  the  days, 
hours,  minutes,  which  had  been  the  gulf  of  torture  between 
then  and  now  —  the  separation  and  the  reunion :  he  was 
voluble,  living  to  speak,  and  a  pause  was  only  for  the  draw- 
ing of  most  blissful  breath. 

His  watch  went  slowly.  She  was  beginning  to  drop  her 
eyelids  in  front  of  Tresten.  Oh !  he  knew  her  so  well.  He 
guessed  the  length  of  her  acting,  and  the  time  for  her  earn- 
estness. She  would  have  to  act  a  coquette  at  first  to  give 
herself  a  countenance  ; .  and  who  would  not  pardon  the  girl 
for  putting  on  a  mask  ?  who  would  fail  to  see  the  mask  ? 
But  he  knew  her  so  well :  she  would  not  trifle  very  long :  his 
life  on  it,  that  she  will  soon  falter !  her  bosom  will  lift,  lift 
and  check :  a  word  from  Tresten  then,  if  he  is  a  friend,  and 
she  melts  to  the  truth  in  her.  Alvan  heard  her  saying: 
"  I  will  see  him  :  yes,  to-day.  Let  him  appoint.  He  may 
come  when  he  likes  —  come  at  once." 

"My  life  on  it !  '*'  he  swore  by  his  unerring  knowledge  of 
her,  the  certainty  that  she  loved  him. 

He  had  walked  into  a  quarter  of  the  town  strange  to  him, 
he  thought ;  he  had  no  recollection  of  the  look  of  the  street. 
A  friend  came  up  and  put  him  in  the  right  way,  walking 
back  with  him.  This  was  General  Leczel,  a  famous  leader 
of  one  of  the  heroical  risings  whose  passage  through  blood 
and  despair  have  led  to  the  broader  law  men  ask  for  when 
they  name  freedom  devotedly.  Alvan  stated  the  position  of 
his  case  to  Leczel  with  continental  frankness  regarding  a 
natural  theme,  and  then  pursued  the  talk  on  public  affairs, 
to  tlie  note  of :  "  What  but  knocks  will  ever  open  the  Black- 
Yellow  Head  to  the  fact  that  we  are  no  longer  in  the  first 
years  of  the  eighteenth  century !  " 

Leczel  left  him  at  his  hotel  steps,  promising  to  cail  on 
him  before  night.  Tresten  had  not  returned,  neither  he  nor 
the  advocate,  and  he  had  been  absent  fully  an  hour.  He 
was  not  in  sight  right  or  left.  Alvan  went  to  his  room, 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  out  of  the  window,  incapable  of 
imagining  any  event.  He  began  to  breathe  as  if  an  atmos- 
phere thick  as  water  were  pressing  round  him.  Uncon* 
sciously  he  had  staked  his  all  on  the  revelation  the  moment 


THE  TRAGIC  COINIEDIANS  139 

was  to  bring.  So  little  a  thing !  His  intellect  weighed  the 
littleness  of  it,  but  he  had  become  level  with  it ;  he  magni- 
fied it  with  the  greatness  of  his  desire,  and  such  was  his 
nature  that  the  great  desire  of  a  thing  withheld  from  him 
and  his  own,  as  he  could  think,  made  the  world  a  whirlpool 
till  he  had  it.  He  waited,  figureable  by  nothing  so  much 
as  a  wild  horse  in  captivity  sniffing  the  breeze,  when  the 
flanks  of  the  quivering  beast  are  like  a  wind-struck  barley- 
field,  and  his  nerves  are  cords,  and  his  nostrils  trumpet 
him :  he  is  flame  kept  under  and  straining  to  rise. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


The  baroness  expected  to  see  Alvan  in  the  morning,  for  he 
kept  appointments,  and  he  had  said  he  would  come.  She 
conceived  that  she  was  independent  of  personal  wishes  on 
the  subject  of  Clotilde ;  the  fury  of  his  passion  prohibited 
her  forming  any  of  the  wishes  we  send  up  to  destiny  when 
matters  interesting  us  are  in  suspense,  whether  we  have 
liberated  minds  or  not.  She  thought  the  girl  wouldgrant 
the  interview;  was  sure  the  creature  would  yield  m  his 
presence;  and  then  there  was  an  end  to  the  shining  of 
Alvan!  Supposing  the  other  possibility,  he  had  shown 
her  such  fierce  illuminations  of  eye  and  speech  that  she 
foresaw  it  would  be  a  blazing  of  the  insurrectionary  beacon- 
fires  of  hell  with  him.  He  was  a  man  of  angels  and  devils. 
The  former  had  long  been  conquering,  but  the  latter  were 
far  from  extinct.  His  passion  for  this  shallow  girl  had 
consigned  him  to  the  lower  host.  Let  him  be  thwarted,  his 
desperation  would  be  unlikely  to  stop  at  legal  barriers. 
His  lawyer's  head  would  be  up  and  armed  astoundingly  to 
oppose  the  law ;  he  would  read,  argue,  and  act  with  hot 
conviction  upon  the  reverse  of  every  text  of  law.  She  be- 
held him  storming  the  father's  house  to  have  out  Clotilde, 
reluctant  or  conniving ;  and  he  harangued  the  people,  he 
bore  off  his  captive,  he  held  her  firmly  as  he  had  sworn  he 
would ;  he  defied  authority,  he  was  a  public  rebel  —  he  with 
his  detected  little  secret  aim,  which  he  nursed  like  a  shamed 


140  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

mother  of  an  infant,  fond  but  afraid  to  be  proud  of  it!  She 
had  seen  that  he  aimed  at  standing  well  with  the  world  and 
being  one  with  it  honourably :  holding  to  his  principles  of 
course  :  but  a  disposition  that  way  had  been  perceived,  and 
the  vision  of  him  in  open  rebellion  because  of  his  shy  catch- 
ing at  the  thread  of  an  alliance  with  the  decorous  world, 
carved  an  ironic  line  on  her  jaw. 

Full  surely  he  would  not  be  baffled  without  smiting  the 
world  on  the  face.  And  he  might  suffer  for  it;  the 
Etidigers  would  suffer  likewise. 

She  considered  them  very  foolish  people.  Her  survey 
of  the  little  nobility  beneath  her  station  had  previously 
enabled  her  to  account  for  their  disgust  of  such  a  suitor  as 
Alvan,  and  maintain  that  they  would  oppose  him  tooth  and 
nail.  Owing  to  his  recent  success,  the  anticipation  of  a 
peaceful  surrender  to  him  seemed  now  on  the  whole  to  carry 
most  weight.  This  girl  gives  Alvan  her  hand  and  her 
family  repudiate  her.  Volatile,  flippant,  shallow  as  she  is, 
she  must  have  had  some  turn  for  him ;  a  physical  spell  was 
on  her  once,  and  it  will  be  renewed  when  they  meet.  It 
sometimes  inspires  a  semblance  of  courage ;  she  may  deter- 
mine ;  she  may  be  steadfast  long  enough  for  him  to  take 
his  measures  to  bear  her  away.  And  the  Brocken  witches 
congratulate  him  on  his  prize ! 

Almost  better  would  it  be,  she  thought,  that  circum- 
stance should  thwart  him  and  kindle  his  own  demon 
element. 

The  forenoon,  the  noon,  the  afternoon,  went  round. 

Late  in  the  evening  her  door  was  flung  wide  for  Colonel 
von  Tresten. 

She  looked  her  interrogative  "Well?''  His  features 
were  not  used  to  betray  the  course  of  events. 

"  How  has  it  gone  ? ''  she  said. 

He  replied:  "As  I  told  you.  I  fancied  I  gauged  the 
hussy  pretty  closely." 

"  She  will  not  see  him  ?  " 

"Not  she." 

The  baroness  crossed  her  arms. 

"  And  Alvan  ?  " 

The  colonel  shrugged.  It  was  not  done  to  tease  a  tremu- 
lous woman,  for  she  was  calm.     It  painted  the  necessary 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  141 

consequence  of  the  refusal :  an  explosion  of  Mtna>,  and  slie 
saw  it. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  "  said  she. 

«  At  his  hotel." 

<^  Alone?" 

'<  Leczel  is  with  him." 

"  That  looks  like  war." 

Tresten  shrugged  again.  "It  might  have  been  foreseen 
by  everybody  concerned  in  the  affair.  The  girl  does  not 
care  for  him  one  corner  of  an  eye  !  She  stood  up  before 
us  cool  as  at  a  dancing-lesson,  swore  she  had  never  com- 
mitted herself  to  an  oath  to  him,  sneered  at  him.  _  She 
positively  sneered.  Her  manner  to  me  assures  me  without 
question  that  if  he  had  stood  in  my  place  she  would  have 
insulted  him." 

"  Scarcely.  She  would  do  in  his  absence  what  she  would 
not  do  under  his  eyes,"  remarked  the  baroness.  "  It 's  de- 
cided, then  ?  " 

"Quite." 

"Will  he  be  here  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Was  she  really  insolent  ?  " 

"  For  a  girl  in  her  position,  she  was." 

"  Did  you  repeat  her  words  to  him  ? '' 

"  Some  of  them." 

"  What  description  of  insolence  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  of  his  vanity.  .  .  ." 

"  Proceed." 

"  It  was  more  her  manner  to  me,  as  the  one  of  the  two 
appearing  as  his  friend.  She  was  tolerably  civil  to  Storchel : 
and  the  difference  of  behaviour  must  have  been  designed, 
for  she  not  only  looked  at  Storchel  in  a  way  to  mark  the 
difference,  she  addressed  him  rather  eagerly  before  we 
turned  on  our  heels,  to  tell  him  she  would  write  to  Ai7?i, 
and  let  him  have  her  reply  in  a  letter.  He  will  get  some 
coquettish  rigmarole." 

"  That  seems  monstrous  !  —  if  one  could  be  astonished  by 
her,"  said  the  baroness.     "  When  is  she  to  write  ?  " 

"  She  may  write :  the  letter  will  find  no  receiver,"  said 
Tresten,  significantly  raising  his  eyebrows.  "The  legal 
gentleman  is  gone  —  blown  from  a  gun  I     He's  off  hosae. 


142  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

He  informed  me  that  he  should  write  to  the  General,  throw- 
ing up  his  office,  and  an  end  to  his  share  in  the  business.'' 

"  There  was  no  rudeness  to  the  poor  man  ?  " 

*'  Dear  me,  no.  But  imagine  a  quiet  little  advocate,  very- 
precise  and  silky  —  you  've  had  a  hint  of  him  —  and  all  of 
a  sudden  the  client  he  has  by  the  ear  swells  into  a  tremen- 
dous beast  —  a  combination  of  lion  and  elephant  —  bellows 
and  shakes  the  room,  stops  and  stamps  before  him,  dis- 
charging an  unintelligible  flood  of  racy  vernacular  punctu- 
ated in  thunder.  You  hear  him  and  see  him  !  Alvan  lost 
his  head  —  some  of  his  hair  too.  The  girl  is  not  worth  a 
lock.     But  he  *s  past  reason." 

^'He  takes  it  so,"  said  the  baroness,  musing.  "It  will 
be  the  sooner  over.  She  never  cared  for  him  a  jot.  And 
there 's  the  sting.  He  has  called  up  the  whole  world  in  an 
amphitheatre  to  see  a  girl  laugh  him  to  scorn.  Hard  for 
any  man  to  bear !  —  Alvan  of  all  men  !  Why  does  he  not 
come  here  ?  He  might  rage  at  me  for  a  day  and  a  night, 
and  I  would  rock  him  to  sleep  in  the  end.  However,  he 
has  done  nothing  ?  " 

That  was  the  point.  The  baroness  perceived  it  to  be  a 
serious  point,  and  repeated  the  question  sharply.  "Has 
he  been  to  the  house  ?  —  no  ?  —  writing  ?  " 

Tresten  dropped  a  nod. 

"  Not  to  the  girl,  I  suppose.    To  the  father  ?  "  said  she. 

"  He  has  written  to  the  General." 

"  You  should  have  stopped  it." 

"  Tell  a  vedette  to  stop  cavalry.  You  're  not  thinking 
of  the  man.     He's  in  a  white  frenzy." 

"I  will  go  to  him." 

"  You  will  do  wrong.  Leave  him  to  spout  the  stuff  and 
get  rid  of  his  poison.  I  remember  a  sister  of  poor  Nuciotti's 
going  to  him  after  he  had  let  his  men  walk  into  a  trap  — 
and  that  was  through  a  woman :  and  he  was  quieted,  and 
the  chief  overlooked  it ;  and  two  days  after,  Nuciotti  blew 
his  brains  out.  He  'd  have  been  alive  now  if  he  had  been 
left  alone.  Furious  cursing  is  a  natural  relief  to  some  men, 
like  women's  weeping.  He  has  written  a  savage  letter 
to  her  father,  sending  the  girl  to  the  deuce  with  the  name 
she  deserves,  and  challenging  the  General." 

"  That  letter  is  despatched  ?  " 


THE  TEAGIC  COMEDIANS  143 

"Rlidiger  has  it  by  this  time." 

The  baroness  fixed  her  eyes  on  Tresten :  she  struck  her 
lap.  "  Alvan  !  Is  it  he  ?  But  the  General  is  old,  gouty, 
out  of  the  lists.  There  can  be  no  fighting.  He  apologized 
to  you  for  his  daughter's  insolence  to  me.  He  will  not 
fight,  be  sure." 

"Perhaps  not,"  Tresten  said. 

"As  for  the  girl,  Alvan  has  the  fullest  right  to  revile 
her  :  it  cannot  be  too  widely  known.  I  could  cry  :  '  What 
wisdom  there  is  in  men  when  they  are  mad ! '  We  must 
allow  it  to  counterbalance  breaches  of  ordinary  courtesy. 
*  With  the  name  she  deserves,'  you  say  ?  He  pitched  the 
very  name  at  her  character  plainly  ?  —  called  her  what 
she  is  ?  " 

The  baroness  could  have  bornt^  to  hear  it:  she  had  no 
feminine  horror  of  the  staining  epithet  for  that  sex.  But  a 
sense  of  the  distinction  between  camps  and  courts  restrained 
the  soldier.  He  spoke  of  a  discharge  of  cuttle-fish  ink  at 
the  character  of  the  girl,  and  added  :  "  The  bath 's  a  black 
one  for  her,  and  they  had  better  keep  it  private.  Regret- 
table, no  doubt,  but  it 's  probably  true,  and  he 's  out  of  his 
mind.  It  would  be  dangerous  to  check  him  :  he  'd  force  his 
best  friend  to  fight.  Leczel  is  with  him  and  gives  him 
head.  It  ^s  about  time  for  me  to  go  back  to  him,  for  there 
may  be  business." 

The  baroness  thought  it  improbable.  She  was  hoping 
that  with  Alvan's  eruption  the  drop-scene  would  fall. 

Tresten  spoke  of  the  possibility.  He  knew  the  contents 
of  the  letter,  and  knew  further  that  a  copy  of  it,  with  none 
of  the  pregnant  syllables  expunged,  had  been  forwarded  to 
Prince  Marko.  He  counselled  calm  waiting  for  a  certain 
number  of  hours.  The  baroness  committed  herself  to  a 
promise  to  wait.  Now  that  Alvan  had  broken  oif  from  the 
baleful  girl,  the  worst  must  have  been  passed,  she  thought. 

He  had  broken  with  the  girl :  she  reviewed  him  under  the 
light  of  that  sole  fact.  So  the  edge  of  the  cloud  obscuring 
him  was  lifted,  and  he  would  again  be  the  man  she  prized 
and  hoped  much  of  !  How  thickly  he  had  been  obscured 
was  visible  to  her  through  a  retreating  sensation  of  scorn 
of  him  for  his  mad  excesses,  which  she  had  not  known 
herself  to  entertain  while  he  was  writhing  in  the  toils,  and 


144  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

very  bluntly  and  dismissingly  felt  now  that  his  madness 
was  at  its  climax.  An  outrageous  lunatic  fit,  that  promised 
to  release  him  from  his  fatal  passion,  seemed,  on  the 
contrary,  respectable  in  essence  if  not  in  the  display. 
Wives  he  should  have  by  fifties  and  hundreds  if  he  wanted 
them,  she  thought  in  her  great-heartedness,  reflecting  on 
the  one  whose  threatened  pretensions  to  be  his  mate  were 
slain  by  the  title  flung  at  her,  and  merited.  The  word  (she 
could  guess  it)  was  an  impassable  gulf,  a  wound  beyond 
healing.  It  pronounced  in  a  single  breath  the  girl's  right 
name  and  his  pledge  of  a  return  to  sanity.  For  it  was 
the  insanest  he  could  do ;  it  uttered  anathema  on  his  love 
of  her ;  it  painted  his  white  glow  of  unreason  and  fierce  ire 
at  the  scorn  which  her  behaviour  flung  upon  every  part  of 
his  character  that  was  tenderest  with  him.  After  speaking 
such  things  a  man  comes  to  his  senses  or  he  dies.  So 
thought  the  baroness,  and  she  was  not  more  than  commonly 
curious  to  hear  how  the  Eiidigers  had  taken  the  insult 
they  had  brought  on  themselves,  and  not  unwilling  to  wait 
to  see  Alvan  till  he  was  cool.  His  vanity,  when  threaten^ 
ing  to  bleed  to  the  death,  would  not  be  civil  to  the  surgeon 
before  the  second  or  third  dressing  of  his  wound. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


In  the  house  of  the  Rtldigers  there  was  commotion. 
Clotilde  sat  apart  from  it,  locked  in  her  chamber.  She  had 
performed  her  crowning  act  of  obedience  to  her  father  by 
declining  the  interview  with  Alvan,  and  as  a  consequence 
she  was  full  of  grovelling  revolt. 

Two  things  had  helped  her  to  carry  out  her  engagement 
to  submit  in  this  final  instance  of  dutifulness  :  one  was  the 
sight  of  that  hateful  rigid  face  and  glacier  eye  of  Tresten ; 
the  other  was  the  loophole  she  left  for  subsequent  insur- 
gency by  engaging  to  write  to  Count  Hollinger's  envoy.  Dr. 
Storchel.  She  had  gazed  most  earnestly  at  him,  that  he 
might  not  mistake  her  meaning,  and  the  little  man's  pair  ot 
Bpectacles  had,  she  fancied,  been  dim.    He  was  touched* 


THE  TRAGIC  COJVIEDIANS  145 

Here  was  a  friend  !  Here  was  the  friend  she  required,  the 
external  aid,  the  fresh  evasion,  the  link  with  Alvan !  Now 
to  write  to  him  to  bind  him  to  his  beautiful  human  emotion. 
By  contrast  with  the  treacherous  Tresten,  whose  iciness 
roused  her  to  defiance,  the  nervous  little  advocate  seemed 
an  emissary  of  the  skies,  and  she  invoked  her  treasure- 
stores  of  the  craven's  craftiness  in  revolt  to  compose  a 
letter  that  should  move  him,  melt  the  good  angel  to  espouse 
her  cause.  He  was  to  be  taught  to  understand  —  nay, 
angelically  he  would  understand  at  once  —  why  she  had 
behaved  apparently  so  contradictorily.  Fettered,  cruelly 
constrained  by  threats  and  wily  sermons  upon  her  duty  to 
her  family,  terrorized,  a  prisoner  '  beside  this  blue  lake,  in 
sight  of  the  sublimest  scenery  of  earth,'  and  hating  his 
associate  —  hating  him,  she  repeated  and  underscored  — 
she  had  belied  herself  ;  she  was  willing  to  meet  Alvan,  she 
wished  to  meet  him.  She  could  open  her  heart  to  Al van's 
true  friend  —  his  only  true  friend.  He  would  instantly 
discern  her  unhappy  plight.  In  the  presence  of  his 
associate  she  could  explain  nothing,  do  nothing  but  what 
she  had  done.  He  had  frozen  her.  She  had  good  reason 
to  know  that  man  for  her  enemy.  She  could  prove  him  a 
traitor  to  Alvan.  Certain  though  she  was  from  the  first 
moment  of  Dr.  Storchel's  integrity  and  kindness  of  heart, 
she  had  stood  petrified  before  him,  as  if  affected  by  some 
wicked  spell.  She  owned  she  had  utterly  belied  herself; 
she  protested  she  had  been  no  free  agent. 

The  future  labours  in  her  cause  were  thrown  upon  Dr. 
Storchel's  shoulders,  but  with  such  compliments  to  him  on 
his  mission  from  above  as  emissary  angels  are  presumed  to 
be  sensibly  affected  by. 

The  letter  was  long,  involved,  rather  eloquent  when  she 
forgot  herself  and  wrote  herself,  and  intentionally  very 
feminine,  after  the  manner  of  supplicatory  ladies  appealing 
to  lawyers,  whom  they  would  sway  by  the  feeble  artlessness 
of  a  sex  that  must  confide  in  their  possession  of  a  heart, 
their  heads  being  too  awful. 

^  She  was  directing  the  letter  when  Marko  Komaris  gave 
his  name  outside  her  door.  He  was  her  intimate,  her 
trustiest  ally ;  he  was  aware  of  her  design  to  communicate 
with  Dr.  Storchel,  and  came  to  tell  her  it  would  be  a  waste 


146  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

of  labour.  He  stood  there  singularly  pale  and  grave,  unlike 
the  sprightly  slave  she  petted  on  her  search  for  a  tyrant. 
"  Too  late,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  letter  she  held.  ''  Dr. 
Storchel  has  gone." 

She  could  not  believe  it,  for  Storchel  had  informed  her 
that  he  would  remain  three  days.  Her  powers  of  belief 
were  more  heavily  taxed  when  Marko  said:  "Alvan  has 
challenged  your  father  to  fight  him."  With  that  he  turned 
on  his  heel;  he  had  to  assist  in  the  deliberations  of  the 
family. 

She  clasped  her  temples.  The  collision  of  ideas  driven 
together  by  Alvan  and  a  duel  — Alvan  challenging  her 
father  —  Alvan,  the  contemner  of  the  senseless  appeal  to 
arms  for  the  settlement  of  personal  disputes !  —  darkened 
her  mind.  She  ran  about  the  house  plying  all  whom  she 
met  for  news  and  explanations;  but  her  young  brother 
was  absent,  her  sisters  were  ignorant,  and  her  parents 
were  closeted  in  consultation  with  the  gentlemen.  At 
night  Marko  sent  her  word  that  she  might  sleep  in  peace, 
for  things  would  soon  be  arranged  and  her  father  had  left 
the  city. 

She  went  to  her  solitude  to  study  the  hard  riddle  of  her 
shattered  imagination  of  Alvan.  The  fragments  would  not 
suffer  joining,  they  assailed  her  in  huge  heaps ;  and  she  did 
not  ask  herself  whether  she  had  ever  known  him,  but  what 
disruption  it  was  that  had  unsettled  the  reason  of  the 
strongest  man  alive.  At  times  he  came  flashing  through 
the  scud  of  her  thoughts  magnificently  in  person,  and  how 
to  stamp  that  splendid  figure  of  manhood  on  a  madman's 
conduct  was  the  task  she  supposed  herself  to  be  attempting 
while  she  shrank  from  it,  and  worshipped  the  figure,  ab- 
horred the  deed.  She  could  not  unite  them.  He  was  like 
some  great  cathedral  organ  foully  handled  in  the  night  by 
demons.  He,  whose  lucent  reason  was  an  unclouded  sky 
over  every  complexity  of  our  sphere,  he  to  crave  to  fight ! 
to  seek  the  life-blood  of  the  father  of  his  beloved !  More 
unintelligible  than  this  was  it  to  reflect  that  he  must  know 
the  challenge  to  be  of  itself  a  bar  to  his  meeting  his  Clotilde 
ever  again.  She  led  her  senses  round  to  weep,  and  produced 
a  state  of  mental  drowning  for  a  truce  to  the  bitter  riddle. 
Quiet  reigned  in  the  household  next  day,  and  for  the 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  147 

(ength  of  the  day.  Her  father  had  departed,  her  mother 
treated  her  vixenishly,  snubbing  her  for  a  word,  but  the 
ugly  business  of  yesterday  seemed  a  matter  settled  and 
dismissed.  Alvan,  then,  had  been  appeased.  He  was  not 
a  man  of  blood :  he  was  the  humanest  of  men.  She  was 
able  to  reconstruct  him  under  the  beams  of  his  handsome 
features  and  his  kingly  smile.  She  could  occasionally  con- 
jure them  up  in  their  vividness ;  but  had  she  not  in  truth 
been  silly  to  yield  to  spite  and  send  him  back  the  photo- 
graphs of  him  with  his  presents,  so  that  he  should  have  the 
uttermost  remnant  of  the  gifts  he  asked  for?  Had  he 
really  asked  to  have  anything  back  ?  She  inclined  to  doubt 
all  that  had  been  done  and  said  since  their  separation  —  if 
only  it  were  granted  her  to  look  on  a  photograph  showing 
him  as  he  was  actually  before  their  misunderstanding ! 
The  sun-tracing  would  not  deceive,  as  her  own  tricks  of 
imageing  might  do :  seeing  him  as  he  was  then,  the  hour 
would  be  revived,  she  would  certainly  feel  him  as  he  lived 
and  breathed  now.  Thus  she  fancied,  on  the  effort  to  get 
him  to  her  heart  after  the  shock  he  had  dealt  it,  for  he  had 
become  almost  a  stranger,  as  a  god  that  has  taken  human 
shape  and  character. 

Next  to  the  sight  of  Alvan  her  friend  Marko  was  wel- 
come. The  youth  visited  her  in  the  evening,  and  with  a 
glitter  of  his  large  black  eyes  bent  to  her,  and  began  talking 
incomprehensibly  of  leave-taking  and  farewell,  until  she 
cried  aloud  that  she  had  riddles  enough :  one  was  too  much. 
What  had  he  to  say  ?  She  gave  him  her  hand  to  encourage 
him.  She  listened,  and  soon  it  was  her  hand  that  mastered 
his  in  the  grasp,  though  she  was  putting  questions  incredu- 
lously, with  an  understanding  duller  than  her  instinct.  Or 
how  if  the  frightful  instinct  while  she  listened  shot  light- 
nings in  her  head,  whose  revelations  were  too  intelligible 
to  be  looked  at  ?  We  think  it  devilish  when  our  old  nature 
is  incandescent  to  talk  to  us  in  this  way,  kindled  by  its 
vilest  in  hoping,  hungering,  and  fearing ;  and  we  call  on 
the  civilized  mind  to  disown  it.  The  tightened  grasp  of  her 
hand  confessed  her  understanding  of  the  thing  she  pressed 
to  hear  repeated,  for  the  sake  of  seeming  to  herself  to  repu- 
diate it  under  an  accumulating  horror,  at  the  same  time  that 
the  repetition  doubly  and  trebly  confirmed  it,  so  as  to  exon- 


148  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

erate  her  criminal  sensations  by  casting  tlie  whole  burden 
on  the  material  fact. 

Marko,  with  her  father's  consent  and  the  approval  of  the 
friends  of  the  family,  had  taken  up  Alvan's  challenge! 
That  was  the  tale.  She  saw  him  dead  in  the  act  of 
telling  it. 

"  What  ?  "  she  cried  :  "  what  ?  "  and  then :  ''  You  ?  " 
and  her  fingers  were  bonier  in  their  clutch :  "  Let  me  hear. 
It  can't  be  !  "  She  snapped  at  herself  for  not  pitying  him 
more,  but  a  sword  had  flashed  to  cut  her  gordian  knot  : 
she  saw  him  dead,  the  obstacle  removed,  the  man  whom 
her  parents  opposed  to  Alvan  swept  away :  she  saw  him  as 
a  black  gate  breaking  to  a  flood  of  light.  She  had  never 
invoked  it,  never  wished,  never  dreamed  it,  but  if  it  was  to 
be  ?  ..."  Oh  !  impossible.  One  of  us  is  crazy.  You  to 
fight  ?  .  .  .  they  put  it  upon  you  ?  You  fight  Jmn  ?  But 
it  is  cruel,  it  is  abominable.  Incredible !  You  have  ac- 
cepted the  challenge,  you  say  ?  " 

He  answered  that  he  had,  and  gazed  into  her  eyes  for 
love. 

She  blinked  over  them,  crying  out  against  parents  and 
friends  for  their  heartlessness  in  permitting  him  to  fight. 

"  This  is  positive  ?  This  is  really  true  ? "  she  said, 
burning  and  dreading  to  realize  the  magical  change  it 
pointed  on,  and  touching  him  with  her  other  hand,  loath- 
ing herself,  loathing  parents  and  friends  who  had  brought 
her  to  the  plight  of  desiring  some  terrible  event  in  sheer 
necessity.  Not  she,  it  was  the  situation  they  had  created 
which  was  guilty !  By  dint  of  calling  out  on  their  heart- 
lessness, and  a  spur  of  conscience,  she  roused  the  feeling 
of  compassion: 

"  But,  Marko  !  Marko  !  poor  child  !  you  cannot  fight ; 
you  have  never  fired  a  pistol  or  a  gun  in  your  life.  Your 
health  was  always  too  delicate  for  these  habits  of  men ; 
and  you  could  not  pull  a  trigger  taking  aim,  do  you  not 
know  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  practising  for  a  couple  of  hours  to-day," 
he  said. 

Compassion  thrilled  her.  "  A  couple  of  hours !  Unhappy 
boy  !  But  do  you  not  know  that  he  is  a  dead  shot  ?  He 
is  famous  for  his  aim.    He  never  misses.    He  can  do  all 


THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS  149 

the  duellist^s  wonders  both  with  sword  aud  pistol,  and  that 
is  why  he  was  respected  when  he  refused  the  duel  because 
he  —  before  these  parents  of  mine  drove  him  .  .  .  and  me  ! 
I  think  we  are  both  mad  —  he  despised  duelling.  He ! 
He  !  Alvan  !  who  has  challenged  my  father  !  I  have  heard 
him  speak  of  duelling  as  cowardly.  But  what  is  he  ?  what 
has  he  changed  to  ?  And  it  would  be  cowardly  to  kill  you, 
Marko." 

"  I  take  my  chance,"  Marko  said. 

"You  have  no  chance.  His  aim  is  unerring."  She 
insisted  on  the  deadliness  of  his  aim,  and  dwelt  on  it  with 
a  gloating  delight  that  her  conscience  approved,  for  she  was 
persuading  the  youth  to  shun  his  fatal  aim.  "  If  you  stood 
against  him  he  would  not  spare  you  —  perhaps  not ;  I  fear 
he  would  not,  as  far  as  I  know  him  now.  He  can  be  ter- 
rible in  wrath.  I  think  he  would  warn  you ;  but  two  men 
face  to  face  !  and  he  suspecting  that  you  cross  his  path ! 
Find  some  way  of  avoiding  him.  Do,  I  entreat  you.  By 
your  love  of  me  !  Oh !  no  blood.  I  do  not  want  to  lose 
you.     I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  Would  you  regret  me  ?  "  said  he. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  his,  and  the  beauty  of  those  great  dark 
eyes  made  her  fondness  for  him  legible.  He  caused  her  a 
spasm  of  anguish,  foreknowing  him  doomed.  She  thought 
that  haply  this  devoted  heart  was  predestined  to  be  the 
sacrifice  which  should  bring  her  round  to  Alvan.  She  mur- 
mured phrases  of  dissuasion  until  her  hollow  voice  broke; 
she  wept  for  being  speechless,  and  turned  upon  Providence 
and  her  parents,  in  railing  at  whom  a  voice  of  no  omin- 
ous empty  sound  was  given  her;  and  still  she  felt  more 
warmly  than  railing  expressed,  only  her  voice  shrank  back 
from  a  tone  of  feeling.  She  consoled  herself  with  the  re- 
flection that  utterance  was  inadequate.  Besides,  her  active 
good  sense  echoed  Marko  ringingly  when  he  cited  the 
usages  of  their  world  and  the  impossibility  of  his  with- 
drawing or  wishing  to  withdraw  from  the  line  of  a  chal- 
lenge accepted.  It  was  destiny.  She  bowed  her  head 
lower  and  lower,  oppressed  without  and  within,  unwilling 
to  look  at  him.     She  did  not  look  when  he  left  her. 

The  silence  of  him  encouraged  her  head  to  rise.  She 
stared  about :  his  phantom  seemed  present;  and  for  a  time 


150  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

she  beheld  him  both  upright  in  life  and  stretched  in  death. 
It  could  not  be  her  fault  that  he  should  die  !  it  was  the 
fatality.  How  strange  it  was  !  Providence,  after  bitterly- 
misusing  her,  offered  this  reparation  through  the  death  of 
Marko. 

Possibly  she  ought  to  run  out  and  beseech  Alvan  to  spare 
the  innocent  youth.  She  stood  up  trembling  on  her  legs. 
She  called  to  Alvan.  "  Do  not  put  blood  between  us.  Oh  ! 
I  love  you  more  than  ever.  Why  did  you  let  that  horrible 
man  you  take  for  a  friend  come  here  ?  I  hate  him,  and 
cannot  feel  my  love  of  you  when  I  see  him.  He  chills  me 
to  the  bone.  He  made  me  say  the  reverse  of  what  was  in 
my  heart.  But  spare  poor  Marko !  You  have  no  cause  for 
jealousy.  You  would  be  above  it,  if  you  had.  Do  not  aim ; 
fire  in  the  air.    Do  not  let  me  kiss  that  hand  and  think  .  .  ." 

She  sank  to  her  chair,  exclaiming :  "  I  am  a  prisoner ! " 
She  could  not  walk  two  steps  ;  she  was  imprisoned  by  the 
interdict  of  the  house  and  the  paralysis  of  her  limbs. 
Providence  decreed  that  she  must  abide  the  result.  Dread 
Power !  To  be  dragged  to  her  happiness  through  a  river 
of  blood  was  indeed  dreadful,  but  the  devotional  sense  of 
reliance  upon  hidden  wisdom  in  the  direction  of  human 
affairs  when  it  appears  considerate  of  our  wishes,  in- 
spirited her  to  be  ready  for  what  Providence  was  about 
to  do,  mysterious  in  its  beneficence  that  it  was !  It  is  the 
dark  goddess  Fortune  to  the  craven.  The  craven  with  de- 
sires will  offer  up  bloody  sacrifices  to  it  submissively.  The 
craven,  with  desires  expecting  to  be  blest,  is  a  zealot  of  the 
faith  which  ascribes  the  direction  of  events  to  the  outer 
world.  Her  soul  was  in  full  song  to  that  contriving  agency, 
and  she  with  the  paralyzed  limbs  became  practically  active, 
darting  here  and  there  over  the  room,  burning  letters,  pack- 
ing a  portable  bundle  of  clothes,  in  preparation  for  the 
domestic  confusion  of  the  morrow  when  the  body  of  Marko 
would  be  driven  to  their  door,  and  amid  the  wailing  and 
the  hubbub  she  would  escape  unnoticed  to  Alvan,  Provi- 
dence-guided!  Out  of  the  house  would  then  signify 
assuredly  to  Alvan's  arms. 

The  prospect  might  have  seemed  too  heavenly  to  be 
realizable  had  she  not  been  sensible  of  paying  heavily  for 
it}  and  thus,  as  he  would  wish  to  be,  was  Marko  of  double 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  151 

service  to  her ;  for  she  was  truly  fond  of  the  beautiful  and 
chivalrous  youth,  and  far  from  wishing  to  lose  him.  His 
blood  was  ou  the  heads  of  those  who  permitted  him  to 
face  the  danger  !  She  would  have  felt  for  him  still  more 
tenderly  if  it  were  permitted  to  a  woman's  heart  to  enfold 
two  men  at  a  time.  This,  it  would  seem,  she  cannot  do : 
she  is  compelled  by  the  painful  restriction  sadly  to  consent 
that  one  of  them  should  be  swept  away. 

Night  passed  dragging  and  galloping.  In  the  very  early 
light  she  thought  of  adding  some  ornaments  to  her  bundle 
of  necessaries.  She  learnt  of  the  object  of  her  present 
faith  to  be  provident  on  her  own  behalf,  and  dressed  in 
two  of  certain  garments  which  would  have  swoln  her  bundle 
too  much. 

This  was  the  day  of  Providence  :  she  had  strung  herself 
to  do  her  part  in  it  and  gone  through  the  pathos  of  her 
fatalism  above  stairs  in  her  bedroom  before  Marko  took 
his  final  farewell  of  her,  so  she  could  speak  her  "  Heaven 
be  with  you !  '^  unshaken,  though  sadly.  Her  father  had 
returned.  To  be  away  from  him,  and  close  to  her  bundle, 
she  hurried  to  her  chamber  and  awaited  the  catastrophe, 
like  one  expecting  to  be  raised  from  the  vaults.  Carriage 
wheels  would  give  her  the  first  intimation  of  it.  Slow,  very 
slow,  would  imply  badly  wounded,  she  thought:  dead,  if 
the  carriage  stopped  some  steps  from  the  house  and  one  of 
the  seconds  of  the  poor  boy  descended  to  make  the  melan- 
choly announcement.  She  could  not  but  apprehend  the 
remorselessness  of  the  decree.  Death,  it  would  probably 
be  !  Alvan  had  resolved  to  sweep  him  off  the  earth.  She 
could  not  blame  Alvan  for  his  desperate  passion,  though 
pitying  the  victim  of  it.  In  any  case  the  instant  of  the 
arrival  of  the  carriage  was  her  opportunity  marked  by  the 
finger  of  Providence  rendered  visible,  and  she  sat  rocking 
her  parcel  on  her  lap.  Her  love  of  Alvan  now  was  mixed 
with  an  alluring  terrpr  of  him  as  an  immediate  death-dealer 
who  stood  against  red-streaked  heavens,  more  grandly  Sa- 
tanic in  his  angry  mightiness  than  she  had  ever  realized 
that  figure,  and  she  trembled  and  shuddered,  fearing  to 
meet  him,  yearning  to  be  taken  to  him,  to  close  her  eyes 
on  his  breast  in  blindest  happiness.  She  gave  the  very  sob 
for  the  occasion. 


152  THE  TRAGIC  COMEDIANS 

A  carriage  drove  at  full  speed  to  tlie  door.  Full  speed 
could  not  be  the  pace  for  a  funeral  load.  That  was  a  visi- 
tor to  her  father  on  business.  She  waited  for  fresh  wheels, 
telling  herself  she  would  be  patient  and  must  be  ready. 

Her  pathos  was  ready  and  scarcely  controllable.  The 
tear  thickened  on  her  eyelid  as  she  projected  her  mind  on 
the  grief  she  would  soon  be  undergoing  for  Marko  :  or  at 
least  she  would  undergo  it  subsequently;  she  would  cer- 
tainly mourn  for  him.  She  dared  not  proceed  to  an  accu- 
mulated enumeration  of  his  merits,  as  her  knowledge  of 
the  secret  of  pathos  knew  to  be  most  moving,  in  an  ex- 
treme fear  that  she  might  weaken  her  required  energies 
for  action  at  the  approaching  signal. 

Feet  came  rushing  up  the  stairs :  her  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  the  living  Marko,  stranger  than  a  dead,  stood 
present.  He  had  in  his  look  an  expectation  that  she  would 
be  glad  to  behold  him,  and  he  asked  her,  and  she  said : 
"Oh,  yes,  she  was  glad,  of  course."  She  was  glad  that 
Alvan  had  pardoned  him  for  his  rashness ;  she  was  vexed 
that  her  projected  confusion  of  the  household  had  been 
thwarted :   vexed,  petrified  with  astonishment. 

"But  how  if  I  tell  you  that  Alvan  is  wounded?"  he 
almost  wept  to  say. 

Clotilde  informs  the  world  that  she  laughed  on  hearing 
this.  She  was  unaware  of  her  ground  for  laughing.  It 
was  the  laugh  of  the  tragic  comedian. 

Could  one  believe  in  a  Providence  capable  of  letting  such 
a  sapling  and  weakling  strike  down  the  most  magnificent 
stature  upon  earth  ? 

"  You  —  him  ?  "  she  said,  in  the  tremendous  compression 
of  her  contempt. 

She  laughed.  The  world  is  upside  down  —  a  world 
without  light,  or  pointing  finger,  or  affection  for  special 
favourites,  and  therefore  bereft  of  all  mysterious  and  at- 
tractive wisdom,  a  crazy  world,  a  corpse  of  a  world  —  if 
this  be  true! 

But  it  can  still  be  disbelieved. 

He  stood  by  her  dejectedly,  and  she  sent  him  flying  with 
a  repulsive,  "  Leave  me ! "  The  youth  had  too  much  on 
his  conscience  to  let  him  linger.  His  manner  of  going 
smote  her  brain. 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  153 

Was  it  credible?  Was  it  possible  to  think  of  Alvan 
(vounded  ?  —  the  giant  laid  on  his  back  and  in  the  hands 
of  the  leech  ?  Assuredly  it  was  a  mockery  of  all  calcula- 
tions. She  could  not  conjure  up  the  picture  of  him,  and 
her  emotions  were  merely  struck  and  stunned.  If  this  be 
true ! 

But  it  can  be  resolutely  disbelieved. 

We  can  put  it  before  Providence  to  cleanse  itself  of  this 
thing,  or  suffer  the  consequence  that  we  now  and  for  ever 
quit  our  worship,  lose. our  faith  in  it  and  our  secret  respect. 
She  heard  Marko's  tale  confirmed,  whispers  of  leaden  im- 
port, physicians'  rumours,  and  she  doubted.  She  clung 
insanely  to  her  incredulity.  Laughter  had  been  slain,  but 
not  her  belief  in  the  invincibility  of  Alvan ;  she  could  not 
imagine  him  overthrown  in  a  conflict  —  and  by  a  hand  that 
she  had  taken  and  twisted  in  her  woman's  hand  subduingly  ! 
He,  the  unerring  shot,  laid  low  by  one  who  had  never  burnt 
powder  till  the  day  before  the  duel !  It  was  easier  to 
remain  incredulous  notwithstanding  the  gradational  dis- 
tinctness of  the  whispers.  She  dashed  her  "  Impossible  ! " 
at  Providence,  conceived  the  tale  in  wilful  and  almost  buoy- 
ant self-deception  to  be  a  conspiracy  in  the  family  to  hide 
from  her  Al van's  magnanimous  dismissal  of  poor  Marko 
from  the  field  of  strife.  That  was  the  most  evident  fact. 
She  ran  through  delusion  and  delusion,  exhausting  each 
and  hugging  it  after  the  false  life  was  out. 

So  violent  was  the  opposition  to  reason  in  the  idea  of 
Alvan's  descending  to  the  duel  and  falling  by  the  hand  of 
Marko,  that  it  cried  to  be  rebutted  by  laughter :  and  she 
could  not,  she  could  laugh  no  more,  nor  imagine  laughing, 
though  she  could  say  of  the  people  of  the  house,  "  They 
act  it  well !  "  and  hate  them  for  the  serious  whispering  air, 
and  the  dropping  of  medical  terms  and  weights  of  drugs, 
which  robbed  her  of  what  her  instinct  told  her  was  the 
surest  weapon  for  combating  deception.  Them,  however, 
and  their  acting  she  could  have  withstood  enough  to 
silently  discredit  them  through  sheer  virulence  of  a  hatred 
that  proved  them  to  be  duly  credited.  But  her  savage 
wilfulness  could  not  resist  the  look  of  Marko.  She  had 
to  yield  up  her  breast  to  the  truth,  and  stimulate  further 
unbelief  lest  her  loaded  heart  should  force  her  to  run  to 


154  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

the  wounded  lion's  bedside,  and  hear  his  reproaches.  She 
had  to  cheat  her  heart,  and  the  weak  thing  consented  to  it, 
loathing  her  for  the  imposture.  Seeing  Marko  too,  assured 
of  it  by  his  broken  look,  the  terrible  mournfulness  less  than 
the  horrible  irony  of  the  truth  gnawed  within  her.  It 
spoke  to  her  in  metal,  not  in  flesh.  It  haunted  her  feelings 
and  her  faint  imaginations  alienly.  It  discoloured,  it 
scorned  the  earth,  and  earth's  teachings,  and  the  under- 
standing of  life.  Rational  clearness  at  all  avenues  was 
blurred  by  it.  The  thought  that  Alvan  lay  wounded  and 
in  danger,  was  one  thought :  that  Marko  had  stretched 
him  there,  was  quite  another,  and  was  a  livid  eclipsing 
thought  through  which  her  grief  had  to  work  its  way  to 
get  to  heat  and  a  state  of  burning.  She  knew  not  in  truth 
what  to  feel :  the  craven's  dilemma  when  yet  feeling  much. 
Anger  at  Providence  rose  uppermost.  She  had  so  shifted 
and  wound  about,  and  so  pulled  her  heart  to  pieces,  that 
she  could  no  longer  sanely  and  with  wholeness  encounter 
a  shock :  she  had  no  sensation  firm  enough  to  be  stamped 
by  a  signet. 

Even  on  the  fatal  third  day,  when  Marko,  white  as  his 
shrouded  antagonist,  led  her  to  the  garden  of  the  house, 
and  there  said  the  word  of  death,  an  execrating  amazement, 
framing  the  thought  "  Why  is  it  not  Alvan  who  speaks  ?  " 
rose  beside  her  gaping  conception  of  her  loss.  She  framed 
it  as  an  earnest  interrogation  for  the  half  minute  before 
misery  had  possession  of  her,  coming  down  like  a  cloud. 
Providence  then  was  too  shadowy  a  thing  to  upbraid.  She 
could  not  blame  herself,  for  the  intensity  of  her  suffering 
testified  to  the  bitter  realness  of  her  love  of  the  dead  man. 
Her  craven's  instinct  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  others  flew  with 
claws  of  hatred  at  her  parents.  These  she  offered  up,  and 
the  spirit  presiding  in  her  appears  to  have  accepted  them 
as  proper  substitutes  for  her  conscience. 


THE  TKAGIC   COMEDIANS  165 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Alvan  was  dead.  The  shot  of  his  adversary,  accidentally 
well-directed,  had  struck  him  mortally.  He  died  on  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  after  the  duel.  There  had  been 
no  hope  that  he  could  survive,  and  his  agonies  made  a 
speedy  dissolution  desirable  by  those  most  wishing  him  to 
live. 

The  baroness  had  her  summons  to  hurry  to  him  after  his 
first  swoon.  She  was  his  nurse  and  late  confidante :  a  tear- 
less woman,  rigid  in  service.  Death  relaxed  his  hold  in 
her  hand.  He  met  his  fate  like  the  valiant  soul  he  was. 
Haply  if  he  had  lingered  without  the  sweats  of  bodily  tor- 
tures to  stay  reflectiveness,  he,  also,  in  the  strangeness  of 
his  prostration,  might  have  cast  a  thought  on  the  irony  of 
the  fates  felling  a  man  like  him  by  a  youngster's  hand  and 
for  a  shallow  girl !  He  might  have  fathered  some  jest  at 
life,  with  rueful  relish  of  the  flavour :  for  such  is  our 
manner  of  commenting  on  ourselves  when  we  come  to 
shipwreck  through  unseaworthy  pretensions.  There  was 
no  interval  on  his  passage  from  anguish  to  immobility. 

Silent  was  that  house  of  many  chambers.  That  mass  of 
humanity  profusely  mixed  of  good  and  evil,  of  generous 
ire  and  mutinous,  of  the  passion  for  the  future  of  man- 
kind and  vanity  of  person,  magnanimity  and  sensualism, 
high  judgement,  reckless  indiscipline,  chivalry,  savagery, 
solidity,  fragmentariness,  was  dust. 

The  two  men  composing  it,  the  untamed  and  the  candi- 
date for  citizenship,  in  mutual  dissension  pulled  it  down. 
He  perished  of  his  weakness,  but  it  was  a  strong  man  that 
fell.  If  his  end  was  unheroic,  the  blot  does  not  over- 
shadow his  life.  His  end  was  a  derision  because  the 
animal  in  him  ran  him  unchained  and  bounding  to  it.  A 
stormy  blood  made  wreck  of  a  splendid  intelligence.  Yet 
they  that  pronounce  over  him  the  ordinary  fatalistic  epi- 
taph of  the  foregone  and  done,  which  is  the  wisdom  of 
men  measuring  the  dead  by  the  last  word  of  a  lamentable 
history,  should  pause  to  think  whether  fool  or  madman  is 
the  title  for  one  who  was  a  zealous  worker,  respected  by 


156  THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS 

great  heads  of  Ms  time,  acknowledged  the  head  of  the 
voluminous  coil  of  the  working  people,  and  who,  as  we 
have  seen,  insensibly  though  these  wrought  within  him, 
was  getting  to  purer  fires  through  his  coarser  when  the 
final  intemperateness  drove  him  to  ruin.  As  little  was  he 
the  vanished  god  whom  his  working  people  hailed  deplor- 
ingly  on  the  long  procession  of  his  remains  from  city  to 
city  under  charge  of  the  baroness.  That  last  word  of  his 
history  ridicules  the  eulogy  of  partisan  and  devotee,  and 
to  commit  the  excess  of  worshipping  is  to  conjure  up  by 
contrast  a  vulgar  giant :  for  truth  will  have  her  just  pro- 
portions, and  vindicates  herself  upon  a  figure  over-idealized 
by  bidding  it  grimace,  leaving  appraisers  to  get  the  balance 
of  the  two  extremes.  He  was  neither  fool  nor  madman, 
nor  man  to  be  adored :  his  last  temptation  caught  him  in 
the  season  before  he  had  subdued  his  blood,  and  amid  the 
multitudinously  simple  of  this  world,  stamped  him  a  tragic 
comedian:  that  is,  a  grand  pretender,  a  self-deceiver,  one 
of  the  lividly  ludicrous,  whom  we  cannot  laugh  at,  but 
must  contemplate,  to  distinguish  where  their  character 
strikes  the  note  of  discord  with  life ;  for  otherwise,  in  the 
reflection  of  their  history,  life  will  seem  a  thing  demonia- 
cally inclined  by  fits  to  antic  and  dive  into  gulfs.  The 
characters  of  the  hosts  of  men  are  of  the  simple  order  of 
the  comic ;  not  many  are  of  a  stature  and  a  complexity 
calling  for  the  junction  of  the  two  Muses  to  name  them. 

While  for  his  devotees  he  lay  still  warm  in  the  earth, 
that  other,  the  woman,  poor  Clotilde,  astonished  her  com- 
patriots by  passing  comedy  and  tragic  comedy  with  the 
gift  of  her  hand  to  the  hand  which  had  slain  Alvan.  In 
sooth,  the  explanation  is  not  so  hard  when  we  recollect 
our  knowledge  of  her.  It  was  a  gentle  youth ;  her  parents 
urged  her  to  it :  a  particular  letter,  the  letter  of  the  chal- 
lenge to  her  father,  besliming  her,  was  shown;  ~a  hideou? 
provocation  pushed  to  the  foullest.  Who  can  blame  Princ^ 
Marko?  who  had  ever  given  sign  of  more  noble  bravery 
than  he  ?  He  had  stood  to  defend  her  name  and  fame. 
He  was  very  love,  the  never  extinguished  torch  of  love. 
And  he  hung  on  her  for  the  little  of  life  appearing  to 
remain  to  him.  Before  heaven  he  was  guiltless.  He  wa» 
^ood.    Her  misery  had  shrunk  her  into  nothingness,  d^^A 


THE  TRAGIC   COMEDIANS  157 

she  rose  out  of  nothingness  cold  and  bloodless,  bearing  a 
thought  that  she  might  make  a  good  youth  happy,  or  nurse 
him  sinking  —  be  of  that  use.  Besides  he  was  a  refuge 
from  the  roof  of  her  parents.  She  shut  her  eyes  on  the 
past,  sure  of  his  goodness;  goodness,  on  her  return  to 
some  sense  of  being,  she  prized  above  other  virtues,  and 
perhaps  she  had  a  fancy  that  to  be  allied  to  it  was  to  be 
doing  good.  After  a  few  months  she  buried  him.  From 
that  day,  or  it  may  be,  on  her  marriage  day,  her  heart  was 
Alvan's.  Years  later  she  wrote  her  version  of  the  story, 
not  sparing  herself  so  much  as  she  supposed.  Providence 
and  her  parents  were  not  forgiven.  But  as  we  are  in  her 
debt  for  some  instruction,  she  may  now  be  suffered  to  go. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

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on  the  date  tO\ which  renewed. 

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